


Hostile Elements

by sailtheplains



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alexander Trevelyan, Cassandra don't play, Circle of Ostwick, Cole brings up the awkward truth, Cullen is Your Wingman, Dadquisitor, F/M, Headcanon, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Magequisitor, Mama Cass, Sarcastic Hawke, Seeker/Mage, Sera is your Wingman, Spoiler Alert - Freeform, Varric's Nickname Game, apostate - Freeform, awkward nerds, funny Hawke, here be dragons, magic has a scent, maybe a little Cullen/Hawke, the Nickname game is strong, when life gives you lemons, you burn life's house down
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 03:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6640390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailtheplains/pseuds/sailtheplains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She laughed at him, doubling over the table. “You got it bad, yeah? Is it the way her bloodied sword hangs on her hip or the way she can skin a deer in seven minutes?”</p><p>Alexander narrowed his eyes at her. “It’s six and a half.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Six and a Half

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't know where this is going yet. I just had some ideas I wanted to get down, so I started writing.  
> Lady Hawke doesn't show up until part 7.  
> \---------------

Alexander Trevelyan, the Circle mage gone rogue. Now the Herald. Shit. What would his friends back home say? Well, not much—he supposed—a lot of them died at the Circle. And the rest died at the Conclave. Oh, and, by the by—his sister and mother, who he hadn’t seen since he’d been sent to Ostwick, were also at the Conclave to formally meddle in politics. Of course, presumably, they were dead. Lot of deadness happening lately. Must be the thing for the kids now.

He tried a faint chuckle and it died before it reached his teeth. 

“Herald, we are ready to depart at your word.” 

_Oh right. Herald. That’s me._ He stood up to face Cassandra. Lady Pentaghast was an exceptionally driven and terrifying woman. She was amazing. 

He couldn’t tell her that, of course. At least…not yet. She might punch him. It wasn’t so much the punching itself as it was her putting that armor up as soon as he spoke to her. Anything soft and yielding, she deflected it like a mirror. She sees it in the mirror and then she breaks the mirror. A lot of metaphorical mirrors.

But when he could stand up and look down into her face, her unrelenting eyes were like a wall of fire. They burned with determination, perseverance and strength. He had wondered if she would mock him for being a mage rather than a warrior like her. But she never did. Something about her just stuck with him. Looking down into her face and feeling all the energy smoldering within her, always made something at the nape of his neck prickle. Made him want to move forward and grab onto her, rough and commanding, knowing she would _challenge_ him—

“Herald.”

Alexander coughed awkwardly. “Oh—I. Yes. Sorry. I’m ready when you are. Ma’am. Lady Cass—Pentaghast.” He coughed into his shoulder again.

“Are you well?” She asked, furrowing her steely eyes. “You seem distracted.”

“Yes. I am. I mean—no. I mean. I’m fine,” he nodded quickly. 

She lifted an eyebrow at him and then turned away. “I will gather the others.”

Alexander straightened his shirt, allowing himself a deep sigh. 

“What’s good, Nubs?”

“Nubs?” He did a double-take, where Sera had snuck up and taken his bread. “Hey!”

“Pay attention then, nubby ears.”

“Oh, shut up,” he grunted.

She laughed at him, doubling over the table. “You got it bad, yeah? Is it the way her bloodied sword hangs on her hip or the way she can skin a deer in seven minutes?”

Alexander narrowed his eyes at her. “It’s six and a half.”

Sera laughed again, taking a piece of cheese off his plate. “Shoulda known you’d be into that sort of thing.”

“I’ll stab you, I swear,” he pointed his fork at her.

“Yeah, that’s probably bigger than anything else you could stab me with!”

“Oh! Ouch!” Alexander grinned. “That was a good one!”

“I’m full of good ones.”

“Can other women _fill_ that for you?”

“Oh, prick!” She threw her napkin at him, laughing.

“Herald!”

Alexander jumped a little and stood up from the table. “Yes—sorry. Coming.”

“That’s what she _didn’t_ say.”

“Hey!” Alex told Sera, pointing at her and grinning. “Shut your face, elf-face.” And then dodged a tin cup that Sera threw as a parting shot.

Cassandra waited for him to come out the door and then fell in step next to him. “Herald, Solas believes that this second attempt to seal the Breach will be successful. We have the mages and we have prepared an advance guard to scout ahead of us in case there are darkspawn.”

Alexander cringed. “Ugh. Darkspawn _and_ demons are like a double-bad sandwich.”

“…..I suppose,” Cassandra agreed slowly, looking like maybe she wasn’t sure.

“So—uh—when are we taking off? We got some hill to climb.”

“When the scouts return today, providing there are no problems—we will leave before dawn tomorrow. Leliana will accompany our party. The Iron Bull has expressed interest in seeing the Breach up close. However, the decision to let him come is up to you.”

“I figure anyone who wants to come, can come. If someone doesn’t want to, they should stay here in Haven.”

“And if none of them want to go with you?”

He looked sidelong at her and shrugged a little, turning his gaze ahead of them as they walked down to the gates. “Then I’ll go alone and take all the glory without any of you.”

“Fortunately, you will not have to do that. I only wondered why you were doing this.”

“Did that tell you?” he asked, bemused.

“Yes. That you would do the right thing. That you are not here simply because you must be.”

Alexander felt his shoulders hitch a little at the faint hint of approval in her voice, looking over at her quickly. She was peering at him with all that dark amber intensity in her eyes. He opened his mouth to say….something. But then nothing happened. He closed his mouth and scratched his fingers through his hair. 

She looked away, stopping to allow the gates of Haven to be opened from the guard above. “Commander Cullen commissioned new armor for the others two weeks ago. That was before we had returned with Iron Bull, however. His armor is so large that it will likely be another week before it is ready. With any luck, he will not need it.”

“What kind of luck?”

“The kind where the Chantry selects a worthy Divine, where mages and Templars agree to stop fighting and squabbling and where whatever or whoever created the Breach appears before me so that I can separate his head from his body.” She sighed. “However, that is unlikely to happen. As you can probably imagine.”

Alexander grinned at her. “I love your dry sense of humor.”

She scoffed, frowning severely at him.

“C’mon Lady Seeker, I know you want to smile.”

She scowled at him and then punched his arm. But there wasn’t any venom behind it (or at least, not much). “The staves you commissioned for Solas and Dorian are finished,” she told him. “Yours is being outfitted with a new grip.”

“Thank you for following up on all that,” he said, more seriously. “I know I lost track of things for a couple weeks with that whole Redcliffe fiasco.”

“You were here,” she said flatly, “but your thoughts were not. They were far away for many days after Redcliffe. With all you saw there, it would be expected.”

He glanced away, still rather uncomfortable with the images in his head. They still felt fresh and raw, watching the demons throw Cassandra’s lifeless body through the doorway to get to him and Dorian. He shook the spiderwebs from his mind. There were lots of dreams at Redcliffe, the Breach, the Ostwick Circle—it’s just the way things were.

“As there,” Cassandra said, as they headed out to the pier that overlooked the lake. “Your eyes become far away and you remember pain. I am sorry.”

He shook his head and shrugged. “It’s all part of it, right?” he half-smiled at her. “This whole adventuring thing?”

Something in her face softened and she cracked a smile. “Just one of many parts. Fear, yes but also exhilaration, fighting for a righteous cause, the romance of an ideal.”

He blinked, looking at her a little closer. When she looked back, he smiled at her. 

“What?” she asked, tone dropping dangerously.

“Nothing!” he exclaimed and grinned. “I just—I agree. You know. And—discovery. I mean. I’ve been trapped in a Circle for almost my whole life….” He looked away, awkwardly. “It’s….being out here and being a part of this…for something more important than….phht, who is teaching advanced alchemy on Monday. It’s all crazy but it’s amazing too…”

“Have you spoken with Solas? There is much he might be able to teach you.”

“I….not quite yet. About magic, anyway. I—wanted to let him get used to me first, I think. I mean, I don’t think he hates me for being a Circle mage but…he’s kind of hard to read. He’s a little weird about humans sometimes.”

“That is true,” Cassandra sighed. “I would only suggest him first because I believe Solas has wisdom that Vivienne and Dorian both lack.”

“I’m hoping—he seems like an…interesting guy. He probably knows a lot. I don’t know how he never got picked up by a Templar but he’s clearly had practice.”

“It is odd—his story. But unfortunately we have neither the time nor the agents to fully investigate. We can only hope that his cooperation means he was being truthful about wanting to help. I know he was preparing to flee before you woke, now he seems content to stay.”

”Haha, this place is littered in apostates. Cullen must be going bonkers inside.”

“He is not the only one.” She raised her eyebrows at him.

“Oh.” Alexander cringed a little. “…..right. Ha. Sorry. Seeker. Ma’am.” He coughed into his fist.

She laughed.

The sound startled him, as he’d never heard it before. He looked at Cassandra, who was shaking her head, still smiling. 

“You know—it—it softens your whole…..thing. When you smile.”

“My whole _thing_?” she asked him.

“Your….demeanor. I mean. You know. You can come across as being pretty intense sometimes. When you smile though….it’s….different.”

“Do you think that is bad?” She asked him curiously.

“No—not at all. You’re…a person, you know. You’re….a person. Not just someone in armor with all these hard, sharp edges. You have some…softer ones too.”

She was staring at him like he’d sprouted another nose on his face.

Alex cringed again a little. “I mean—yeah—I’m….sorry. Sorry. I’ll just shut up now. Haha, ugh.”

“You are surprisingly bad at this,” she told him, very somberly.

Alex burst out laughing.

 

 

Things might be finally going their way. His way. Any way except tits up—which is exactly what happened. He clearly had jinxed it. Sealing the Breach had been almost insanely _easy_. Sure, he threw up afterwards when all that power drained out of him but not one person had tried to _kill_ him. That was definitely a win. But now, he supposed, it didn’t count. A list of “Day Blank Since Someone Tried to Kill Me” gets erased pretty quick when some kind of mutant Lyrium vulture, shaped like a human declares war on you with an army of red assholes. Oh, _and_ a fucking _dragon_. In case that wasn’t enough.

On the bright side, they met Cole. A fascinating and weird…..kid. Person. Sentient scarecrow? He wasn’t sure how the guy had taken down thirty Templars so that he could come in the front door but he definitely didn’t want to be on the wrong side of him—whatever he was. He knew he wasn’t human. Cole felt entirely too strange to be human. But he wasn’t quite a spirit, either.

But there hadn’t been much time for that, what with crushing Haven under rock and snow and all. And then crawling out of the mountain like a maimed bear, staggering and clumsy. He wasn’t sure what led him in the right direction. Afterwards, he hardly remembered anything except the bitter, blowing cold and how much _everything_ hurt. And shit, was Cassandra all right? Not that Cassandra couldn’t take care of herself. But still. 

Solas told him later that Cole was the reason Cullen and Cassandra knew when he crested the hill. He only remembered everything burning until he heard Cullen’s voice and smelled sandalwood as the Templar lifted him up over his shoulder. Not rotting sandalwood (blood, blood, so much blood at the failed Harrowing; when Sasette failed and he watched them stab, a frenzy of feeding their swords on her _blood_ ), not red sandalwood (madness, terrible terrible madness, shards like glass under their eyelids, taken by madness that would only be silenced with death), just normal sandalwood. Normal Templar. 

“The other….Cullen….the Seeker…,” he choked out. “She…”

“Shush,” Cassandra said under the wind. “We are taking you to camp.”

“ _Cassandra_ ,” he grunted, eyes glazed and absent. And then he passed out.

 

 

He jerked awake violently. Only Cullen grabbing him by the shoulder stopped him from throwing himself forward. He shuddered, eyes frantically scanning—

“Cullen?”

“Yes—Herald. It’s all right. You’re all right. You made it to camp. We had to change your clothes—sorry about that. These are some of mine—I didn’t realize how close we were to the same size.”

“Is Cassandra all right? And—Iron Bull and Solas—they were with me when…when that _thing_ showed up. Where are they?”

“They’re fine—everyone’s a bit shaken about the dragon and this Corypheus. Just rest for now.”

“I should help—“

Cullen shook his head. “No. You’d fall over if you got up. It would be very embarrassing for you. Besides, I think Cassandra would slit your throat.”

He pressed against Cullen’s hand for a second—but the wave of weariness that crested over him seemed to decide before he could try to get up anyway. “I guess that wouldn’t be so bad…” he said, slumping back onto the cot, eyes getting dazed again. The exhaustion was like a weight on his chest. 

Cullen grinned, laughing softly. “I’ll make sure to tell her you said that.”

“Screw you, Cullen,” he managed before drifting off again.


	2. Tension Wire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra/Inquisitor  
> \----------------  
> Sera and Cassandra discuss her underpants: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eQe2BSKaMqo  
> \------------------
> 
> He really ought to try having a couple lines prepared. Maybe he could ask Solas or Josephine later. Solas was poetic about everything. He could look at a Qunari shoving a banana up his nose and turn it into some poignant comment on the state of society or something.  
> \--

“Rose. No! Robin’s egg!” Sera sang out at the top of the hill they’d crested. She whirled around, pointing finger-knives at Cassandra.

“Are you speaking of me?” Cassandra wrinkled her nose.

“Trying to guess what color your underpants are!”

Alexander nearly fell off his horse. “Sera!”

“I don’t _wear_ underpants,” Cassandra replied stonily.

Alexander froze. He closed his eyes _extremely_ hard and then opened them again. _Did that just fucking happen?_

“Everyone heard that, right? Yeah?” Sera giggled madly.

Alexander turned his burning red face to the side and disguised a deep breath with a cough. 

Iron Bull did something of a double-take at him and then burst out laughing.

“What!” Cassandra snapped tersely.

“Nothing,” Alexander coughed out, miming cutting his throat at Iron Bull.

Iron Bull coughed. “Funny joke that Solas told me in Skyhold. I just got it.”

“We haven’t been to Skyhold in two weeks.”

“It was….a really good joke.”

Alexander only looked up again when Cassandra had turned around in her saddle. He sighed silently before shooting a glare at Iron Bull. “Fuck you, Bull.”

Bull choked, descending into silent laughter.

“Oh,” Cole said suddenly, eyes bright in understanding. “I see. He means because you—“

Alexander reached over and slapped his hand over Cole’s mouth. He said nothing but shook his head and mouthed: _NO._

“Your eyes are crazy-level huge right now,” Iron Bull said.

Alex snorted on a laugh and then removed his hand from Cole’s face. “Sorry, buddy.” 

Cole looked ahead of them, where Cassandra and Sera were bickering about Templars. He smiled gently at Alex. “You should tell her.”

Alex started, jerking back a little bit and glancing away. 

“It fears in the deep-dark, where all the water gathers and the blood pools in the dim lantern lights. Found them in the bottommost casting chamber. All of them. My friends. The death smell. Heavy and rotting like apples left to die in the sun. The buzzing of flies over your heartbeat. Couldn’t save them, failure. _Get over here, mage!_ ” Cole kept staring at him. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know until it was too late. If you had been there, you would be dead too.”

Alexander cringed a little, shoulders hunching and not quite daring to look at Iron Bull’s expression. “Yeah. That’s—that’s good, Cole.”

“Hey! They’re having some kind of festival down the hill! Let’s go! I’m hungry. Do we have any money?” Sera circled Cassandra on her horse.

Alexander perked. “Yeah! Absolutely! Let’s go!” He slapped his reigns and hurried away from Cole and Iron Bull.

The spirit looked up at the Qunari. Iron Bull shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to work on him, kid.”

Cole looked thoughtful at that and faced forward again, head tilting to the side and hearing how the Inquisitor threw himself forward, forcing his mind full of happy images of the festival. But down in the deep-dark, it was still there, locked up tight and hard like a stone.

Alexander dismounted by what looked to be a tavern. He tied his horse at a post and waited for Cassandra to approach. She started to get down but he gently took the horse’s bridle and urged him to the post to tie him up.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said.

He nearly offered a hand to help her down but she was already swinging to the ground. Alexander swallowed a little, seeming unable to help the line his eyes followed down to her waist. Seeming unable to help the thought that went through his mind—about how she didn’t….didn’t wear _things_ under her armor. He looked away from her and grabbed Cole’s horse as it approached, tying it up as well.

Sera bounded off to the throngs of people. 

“Looks like there’s a melee,” Iron Bull said, peering above everyone’s heads. “And contests of arms. It's a tournament. That might be fun. Do we have time for that?”

“Sure,” Alexander shrugged. “Go find out how much the entry fee is.”

Cassandra looked thoughtful. “Perhaps I will participate as well.”

“Aw, Cassandra, that’s like cheating. You’ll beat everyone.”

The woman started and looked at him. “You flatter me.”

“No way. It’s not flattery if it’s the truth, Seeker.”

“Would you like to put a wager on that?” Iron Bull asked them.

“Wait, what?” Alexander asked.

“What do you mean, Iron Bull?” asked Cassandra.

“We both enter the arms tournament. One of us is bound to win. If you win, you take the prize money and thank the Inquisitor with a drink. But if I win—I get the money and you and _me_ get a drink, Seeker.”

“Uh. What.” Alexander’s shoulders stiffened. He gritted his teeth at Iron Bull, who grinned back. _You dick._

Cassandra huffed, looking annoyed. “I typically do not use my abilities to win wagers.”

“Never hurts though. We could use the money to put new shoes on the horses.”

Cassandra thought about that. “I suppose that would be all right then.”

“What about me? I could participate.”

Iron Bull burst out laughing. “No. Just no. You’re a mage. Stick to your genre.”

“Hey! I keep myself strong, you know!” He lifted an arm to show them the thick, corded muscle.

Cassandra patted his bicep. “If there is any magical competition, we will ask you to enter for us.”

Alex’s mouth fell open.

Iron Bull burst out laughing. “Damn, Seeker. He looks fucking _destroyed_.”

“She means only that she does not wish you to be hurt,” Cole spoke up.

Cassandra scowled a little. “I am confident in the Inquisitor’s ability and stamina—I simply do not wish to risk the fate of the world for a little friendly competition.”

“C’mon, Seeker. Let’s go find the registration.” Iron Bull said, turning to walk away.

Alexander glared at the Qunari’s back. _Oh, you’ll pay for that one, you jerk._

“Do you think she can’t win?”

Alex did a double-take at Cole. “I…well. I dunno. I’ve never seen her fight Iron Bull. What if they have to fight each other? What if…”

“She gets hurt?”

He felt something dark and hot boil up inside of his chest. “Then I kill Iron Bull and we continue onward.”

Cole tilted his head. “You should trust Cassandra.”

“I…I do. I just…”

“Worry. Because when you look at her—so hard and tough and sharp as flint, broken ceramic with biting edges but there’s softness too. And when she rides off to protect you, a horrible fear in your belly like broken glass that your barriers won’t protect her and she’ll fall and you’ll be helpless…”

Alex shifted on his feet. “We’re starting to get looks. Let’s get a drink at the tavern.” He held onto his staff—feeling the eyes on him as he entered the busy establishment with Cole. Sera found them there, where she loudly exclaimed (as if she didn’t know him) that he was the Inquisitor. 

“Sera!”

“Shut it! Now we get free drinks the rest of the night.”

“Ugh,” he grumbled and shook his head at her. 

“What’s he so sore about?”

“Cassandra is—“

And then Cassandra entered the tavern, finding their table to sit with them. She and Bull were each registered, she informed them. The bouts would begin in the early afternoon.

“Just be careful,” Alex told her, looking at the table.

“Inquisitor—I hope you did not take it personally when we said you should not enter. It was not meant to be belittling. You are very skilled as a mage and you clearly keep yourself strong. But as soon as people find out you are the Inquisitor—no one will want to fight you. Participating would be a waste of time for you.”

He blinked at the table and looked up at her. “Oh. I….hadn’t thought of that. I guess it would if no one...would fight the Inquisitor. Ha.”

“I do hope that you will watch.”

He smiled crookedly. “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.”

“If the Iron Bull thinks that I will let him con me out of a drink and all his coin, he is mistaken.”

“Isn’t gambling against the Chantry or something?” Sera asked.

“This is not gambling,” Cassandra said flatly. “This is simply proving my faith in my abilities as a Seeker. If I should happen to win coin because of it, that is simply a side benefit of my skill.”

Sera burst out laughing.

The bouts began an hour before noon. A crowd of eager spectators surrounded the small arena. Sera led Alex and Cole to a back stair that took them to a rooftop, so they could sit above the crowd. There was some pointing and murmuring when they did. Word had spread that the Inquisitor was watching.

The leader of the village welcomed everyone and then bowed low over his arm in Alexander’s direction. “Thank you for joining us in our humble celebration, Inquisitor. It must be a good omen that you would happen across our village at this festive time where we celebrate the lives of those who passed in defense of Thedas. Our contests of arms have called in warriors from all over the region. From Lord Barbanal in the north to Lady Pathwalker Tiledon in the south. While death is always a risk, the emphasis for us is hard-work and skill. When one yields or is knocked-out, the fight is over. Out here, there's no need for anyone to die. I hope you will join me in congratulating the victors today, my Lord Inquisitor.”

Alexander bowed over his arm to the crowd and the village leader. Mostly because he didn't really know what to say in return. He really ought to try having a couple lines prepared. Maybe he could ask Solas or Josephine later. Solas was poetic about _everything_. He could look at a Qunari shoving a banana up his nose and turn it into some poignant comment on the state of society or something. And Josephine was, well. Josephine. Alexander sat back down quickly. "I never know what to say when people say stuff like that to me," he told Sera and Cole quietly.

"You ask them to get us free rooms at the inn," Sera advised and then burst out laughing when he flipped her off.

Cassandra and Iron Bull breezed through the contests of arms. Whether with two-handed or one-handed swords or axes, both of them were powerful, strong and fast. No magic or Fade-abilities were permitted in the bouts so there was not a single flair from Cassandra’s seeker abilities. She was so powerful. Every strike was like a hammerblow, a crack of lightning. Cassandra was one of the few women participating. She was definitely the best, though. After her first match, which she won flawlessly, he tried to watch where she went but she was led away to some tents behind the arena to be checked for injury. 

“She is all right,” Cole said softly. “She is proud of her skill. And proud that you are watching.”

“She’s tough,” Sera added. “Don’t worry so much.” She giggled at him. “Though it’s fun to watch.”

“Shut up,” he grumped at her.

“Why? Are you thinking about how sweaty her armor must be without _underpants_?”

Alex stiffened. “Goddammit, Sera.”

The thief burst out laughing.

“Did you do that on purpose?!”

“I would _never_!” Sera grinned at him.

Iron Bull was up. His first opponent laughed and shook his head, forfeiting immediately. No one seemed to blame him for that—especially after Bull’s second bout, where he broke his opponent’s collarbone and shattered her armor. 

Cassandra threw herself into her third and fourth bouts. She treated every fight like it was to the death, pummeling her opponents like a hailstorm. By evening, the contestants had whittled down to, as he’d predicted, Iron Bull and Cassandra.

They fought fiercely, spectators stepping away from the railings at their fury of blows. Alex’s fingers were gripping hard into his thigh, curling the leather of his body armor in his fist. Cassandra did not have the Bull’s brute power but she was definitely quicker. She feinted and backhanded the Qunari.

Perhaps no one else noticed because they hadn’t fought alongside the Iron Bull but when he staggered it….it seemed a little off. A little over the top. Cassandra was too focused on the fighting to notice and she went immediately for that weakness, spinning around him and slamming her elbow into his spine.

The Qunari fell to his knees and he dropped his axe, lifting his hands in surrender. “I yield,” he said, grinning.

Cassandra reached down for his hand and pulled him back to his feet as the crowd cheered. Alexander jumped up, slipping down the back stair to hurry to the medic tents. 

“Cassandra!” he said, hurrying over to her. “Are you all right?”

“Of course,” she said. “It was a good match but Bull and I are both very tired, I think. He could have fought on, easily.”

“I’m glad you won. I mean—I’m—congratulations.”

Cassandra shrugged. “I hope I could win a small melee in a small village, at least.”

“Don’t be so modest, Cassandra,” Iron Bull grinned. “You won. Go buy the Inquisitor a drink.”

Alex did a double-take at Iron Bull. The huge man _winked_. 

And then he realized, eyes widening. Oh. _Best. Companion. Ever._

“We have earned the use of the inn, I think,” Cassandra said. “A bath first and then food.” She walked away.

“Bull—“

“You owe me, boss.”

“I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

 

 

 

At the inn, Cassandra came back downstairs after her hot bath. She had left the armor upstairs, coming down in riding leathers and linen instead. She smiled. “Get your drink Inquisitor, so I can put the rest of the money away.”

“Can’t hurt to spend a little, right?”

Cassandra blew a lock of hair away from her face. “Not too much. We must save what we can.”

Alexander looked over her, reaching up to touch a scrape that had scabbed over her forehead. He brushed his thumb over it, letting a little tingle of healing magic flow over it.

Cassandra tensed, staring at him. 

“I just…” he coughed. “Well!” He jumped up and went to the bar, completely forgetting about her buying anything. He ordered ale and dinner for her and they brought Cassandra stew, fresh bread and a chunk of slow-smoked ram. 

She ate ravenously, attention immediately derailing when the food was put down. She dug in. He watched her fondly, leaning on his elbow. She was so….just…. _her_. Strong, independent, fierce and passionate. He drank his ale down far too quickly, trying to work up some courage. 

One of the bar maids brought them pie, congratulating the seeker on her victory. Some of the other participants came over to chat with Cassandra, sitting down with them. He tolerated that, so long as they stayed friendly. The only one who did not found the Seeker glaring at him and next to her, a mage’s hackles were rising, shoulders tensing. He put a hand on the table. The one with the mark. He seemed to reconsider at that. 

More ale, was Iron Bull’s solution. Though no problem had been brought up. He simply seemed to want to buy more ale. 

Alexander was starting to feel warm, fuzzy, bolder than he normally might be. _Not a big deal. She’s a human. If she says no—then at least I know the answer and I can get over it. It won’t be weird or awkward. Well, yes it will. But it will be done with._

“Seeker, take the Inquisitor upstairs and show him you aren’t hurt, all right? I can feel him fretting from here,” Iron Bull finally told her as the night deepened and the hearth fires burned low.

Cassandra rolled her eyes but she got up and headed for the stairs.

“Go, stupid,” Iron Bull shoved the Inquisitor after her.

Alex followed her upstairs. Her room was at the end of the hall. She stopped in front of it. “Inquisitor. I do not wish to bring you up here under false pretenses. I get the feeling this was somewhat pre-meditated.”

Alex took a deep breath, trying to think through a haze of how aggressively he was burning up inside. “I want you,” he blurted out, staring down at her. “If you don’t feel the same, that’s fine. Just tell me.”

Cassandra stared at him, mouth hanging open.

Panic flooded up through his system. "I mean--I just--I don't like the wondering. I just like to get it done and over with. Ask and then be done. It's okay. Answer's probably no. And. That's fine. It's totally fine, Cassa--Lady---uh, Seeker. I just--I just don't hold onto things very well," he rambled, waving his hands uselessly.

“I...have noticed. Your. Attention. But...I..."

“If you aren’t interested, I won’t bother you again.”

The Seeker looked aside. “That….that would not be necessary.”

He felt a flood of blood rush passed his ears. “Really?” He stepped closer, cornering her against the door.

“I-Inquisitor—“

He reached up, gently cupping her jawline. “Don’t call me that.” He leaned in.

She stiffened up against the door when their mouths met. Her hand slid back, searching for the doorknob and quickly turning it. She grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him inside after her.

He shoved the door shut and stepped into her, hands going to her hips and pulling her in. “It’s stupid—I know—but I was worried, all right? I was.” He kissed her.

She staggered. “Alexander—“

His hands went up to cup her face. The tension in him was nearly palpable, searching her eyes.

She grabbed him by the collar and shoved him towards her bed. He stumbled to it and turned, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her into him. He sat back and she straddled his thigh. His hands grabbed into her shirt, pulling buttons apart so he could cup one of her breasts, thumb massaging the nipple. 

She shoved him onto his back, leaning over him. Their eyes met, examining, looking into each other. And then her hands were pulling his robes open, fighting to get by enchanted mail and finding his chest. He flipped them over, pulling her up farther onto the blankets, grabbing the tongue of her belt and uncoiling it to whip it off of her. In a flash, he had the hem of her trousers, peeling them down her muscled thighs and strong calves. He slid his hands over the skin when it was bared, feeling all the training she had endured to build up such strength and grace.

She had not lied. No underpants.

His eyes went glassy and hot and she suddenly sat up. She stared into his face boldly as her hands went to his belt, jerking it loose. Keeping his eyes on her so he could only _feel_ the rough sensations, he shuddered and then helped her. 

“Alexander…”

He looked at her, breath short and eyes burning into her.

She ran her fingers into his hair. “I feel it inside of you—how tightly you are wound.” She felt his hands cup her waist, shaking a little, fingers digging into her skin with a veneer of restraint that was pulling at him like a ship in a storm. “I will not break.”

Her fingers were soothing and it seemed to bring him back to himself, helping his eyes clear. “I…I’m sorry.”

“You have been through much. Now, I will share it with you.” She leaned back, drawing him down to her. She could sense it in him, a sort of wild fury. The lack of control he had over the majority of this whole situation. How badly he wanted her, to find release, to find calm, to find her fortitude and strength. To both be sheltered and to shelter her. She wasn’t stupid. She _saw_ the anger coiling in his brow when other men approached her. Saw how his broad shoulders stretched, turning hard as stone. 

It didn’t feel patronizing though. He never acted on the impulse. Had she desired to go with any of them, he would not have stopped her. But he could not seem to help the burning feeling that consumed him when another tried to get too close to her. She’d sensed it from him at a few of Iron Bull’s comments and once or twice during her interactions with Blackwall. She knew she was a very intense woman and she tended to draw very intense men.

He was no exception. Under his smile and bright eyes, he was a roaring flame. He struggled between wanting to consume her in and holding back in respect to her. 

“I will not break,” she said again. “And you won’t either.”

That sent a flicker of darkness through his eyes, going back—no doubt—to the Circle….and to the Templars….and…

“Cassandra…I-“

She yanked him down the rest of the way before he could start overthinking it, kissing him hard and fast. Drawing him in and absorbing him. He was hesitant only for a moment—and then he came unhinged, like a door in a storm. He was a whirlwind of feeling, his magic was crackling around him. He grabbed her, rougher, pinning her to the bed. He kissed her mouth, her chin, her jaw. Nipped at her and when she didn’t object, bit her. He heard her moan softly and the fiery feeling inside of him grew and expanded. Their rhythm synced together, moving to kiss her as his length slid up against her folds. They both startled at the jolt it gave them.

He curled the fingers of one hand into her hair, the other drug down her skin, between her thighs. He watched her face, watched her eyes close, watched the sweat break out on her forehead when he touched her. Slick and hot and she smelled like leather and tobacco and violets. He grabbed her mouth again, they fought for it until he slid a finger inside of her. Her mouth opened against his, dragging in a breath. 

“Alex….”

He hesitated, shaking a little with restraint until their eyes could meet, silently asking. When she nodded, he returned the nod. He kissed her and cupped her thigh, watching her eyes when he slowly sunk inside of her.

He trembled.

She felt all his muscle twitch, the lyrium in his blood was flaring and hot. And then her head tipped back, shifting her hips and she made a soft barely-there sound as he slid fully inside of her. And then he finally seemed to forget everything else. He shifted, holding her to him, kissing her hard and thrusting into her. They both cried out—softly and then he jerked, pulling back and then snapping his hips into her. She pulled him down to her, biting his shoulder hard—feeling how it made him jerk, how it charged all the aggression in him. How she thrilled to it when he turned it on her. Harsher, faster, deeper—he plunged into her core. His hands drug up, cupping the back of her head with them. He braced his elbows above her shoulders for leverage, rolling into her, drawing out her desperate, choked off sounds that made his eyes feel glazed and feverish.

And then he jerked out and back, grabbing her and flipping her over. She braced her palms to try to push herself up but his large, calloused hand descended on her spine, shoving her back down. He grabbed her hips and thrust inside of her again. His thickness full and deep and hitting her _there_. He curled over her back, hands now free to wander and explore her torso, sliding up to her breast as he thrust sharp and hard into her. The other hand sliding down to counterpoint slow circles around her clit as his thrusts started to lose rhythm. 

Her vision went dark when she came, bearing down on him, shattering apart. He groaned, harsh and deep in her ear, stilling to grind into her and then shaking apart. He breathed fast, harsh on her throat before he collapsed next to her, curling his arms around her to hold her close. His fingers went into her hair, almost unconsciously soothing. 

She smiled faintly at him and he returned it, looking abashed but not sorry. They curled around each other.


	3. Knock, Knock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole's Knock-knock jokes are, literally, my favorite party banter ever. And then I went on youtube and found out there was more than one. I was SO excited.
> 
> First one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qRSD2CwFOes  
> Second one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PxoCEPKyr1U  
> Third one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fb4UTC_XTnM
> 
> \------------
> 
> Taking a little break from Before the Wolf. It's nearly completely finished. Probably just one more chapter and it'll be all done.
> 
> \-------------
> 
> Alex snorted. “Dark magic of magister darkspawn, bringing people together since 9:41 Dragon.”
> 
> “Perhaps we should let Corypheus know that when we see him next.”
> 
> “Yeah, attach it to an arrow and give it to Sera. She’ll make sure it reaches him.”

Cole sat quietly at the table in the main hall, watching everyone else. All right. He was ready. He waited for a lull in conversation and then said, “Knock, knock?”

Everyone glanced at him. Alexander’s eyes lit up with interest as he took a pull from his mead.

“Okay,” Varric said, “I’ll bite, kid. Who’s there?”

Cole’s whole face brightened. “The Inquisition!” He told them, very seriously.

“The Inquisition, who?”

Cole took a breath, like he was readying himself for a feat of strength. “….that’s who we are, Varric. The Inquisition!”

Everyone was silent for a moment and then—

Alex choked on his mead, spitting it all over his bowl of stew. He put his head on the table, laughing helplessly.

Cole’s face brightened again. “Did I get it right?”

“No, kid. Not really,” Varric told him, turning his head curiously.

Alexander raised a hand. “You….you’re perfect, buddy.” He gasped for breath, face still planted onto the table.

“It isn’t _that_ funny,” Cassandra told him from his left, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“No, you—as soon as he said that,” he took a gasp of air, “I thought to myself: _Wow, I hope he bludgeons this. It’ll be so funny._ ” He wiped his eyes. “And it _was_. Because it’s _Cole_ , right!” He grinned at the spirit. “You are the _best_ , Cole.” And then he dissolved into laughter again.

Varric lifted his eyebrows. “I think we broke the Inquisitor.” 

“He _has_ been under a great deal of stress,” Solas said, though his blue eyes were twinkling.

Alex put his eyes in his palms, laughing and wiping his eyes and then he looked at Varric and started laughing again—until something blinding went through his chest—

“Ah,” Cole said softly. “It’s sharp. It became sharp.”

“What do you mean, kid?” Varric asked him.

Cole sat up taller, looking over to the Inquisitor. His eyes were still buried in his palms, shaking silently now. But not laughing. “The laugh let a little in, a little in to let away all the everything pressing down and down and down. The laugh let a little in and now there’s too much. Not here. Not here in front of _her_ and the others. No. No. I saw her, I saw Charlotte in the hallways. Knew her immediately. Eyes are the same. It’s the same. It’s—everything is burning. It’s all burning. There’s—“ Cole started to tremble, “—there is so much darkness. And Charlotte burns inside and out, like Robb at the Circle tower when they threw him from the burning mezzanine, turning dark like parchment to a candle, a moment suspended as she kneels and then _bursts_.” His voice quieted to a whisper. “And they fly apart like _leaves_ , bodies crumbling to ash. It’s in my lungs, I inhale them and burn.”

Alexander stayed still a moment, taking a deep breath and then stood up, slowly, eyes down. He waved a hand to the table with a crooked humorless smile, not looking at any of them. “And I’m out.”

They watched the Inquisitor square his shoulders, walking slowly out of the hall. He headed out into the starry night.

“You should go after him,” Dorian said, looking at Cassandra.

The warrior looked at the table. “I am not so…good in delicate matters.”

“He has seen death but not like _you’ve_ seen death,” Cole said quietly. “He will see much more death before the end.”

“So, he should just get over it then? Really, Seeker?” Varric asked.

“I did not say such a thing but…”

Iron Bull shrugged. “She’s got a point. He’ll see a lot worse than whatever the Templars did to his friends at the Circle.”

“He just needs time,” Blackwall reminded them. “When you grow up in a soft Circle—real life can be harsh.”

“It’s all harsh,” Cole said softly. “Even the voices of children are harsh in the cold dead lights of the deep-dark when something batters at their door.”

Blackwall’s hand tightened around the bowl of his long-stemmed pipe. No one seemed to notice.

“Solas,” Cassandra said quietly. “Will you speak to him?”

The elf turned to look at her, bemused. “Why me?”

“He respects you and you know more about what the magic is doing to him.”

The elf appeared surprised by that admission. “He respects an apostate elf?”

“Do you think him so stilted in his views that he would dislike you on principal?”

“I don’t pretend to be here at anyone’s good graces save yours, Seeker. You have been accommodating but you _are_ part of the established problem.”

“I left my Order, Solas.”

The elf paused. “….I suppose you are right. You did. When he returns, I will speak with him.”

“Thank you, Solas.”

 

 

Alexander went out to the ramparts, walking along the shambling stone and leaning on the wall. He looked into the snowy valley below, the sheet of blue ice. There were wolves down there. He could just make out their glimmering eyes in the moonlight. 

“Inquisitor?”

He glanced to his left, where Cullen was exiting one of the ruined towers. “Cullen,” he said, standing up straighter. 

The Commander had a palm resting on his sword hilt, where it always did. He walked out to stand next to him. “Feeling restless?”

Alex looked down into the valley again. “A little.”

Cullen hesitated a moment. Alexander felt it, the pause as the Templar reconsidered and then he spoke, “I know you have a few reservations about me, Inquisitor. I understand. You came from a Circle that saw a good deal of violence. I have noticed your attempts to be carefully neutral around me. I know I make you anxious. I hope that perhaps, we can work passed that.”

Alex did a double-take at him. “Oh…I…if I said something—I meant no disrespect—“

“You didn’t,” Cullen said quickly, raising a hand to placate him. “In fact, you’ve been downright friendly. I’m accustomed to mages disliking me on principal. As I imagine you’re accustomed to Templars distrusting you on principal. It must be somewhat conflicting, to be with Cassandra, knowing she’s a Seeker.”

Alex nodded. “I…well. Yes. That has crossed my mind. But she’s…she’s not like them.”

“I won’t pretend that mages are helpless. I’ve seen the damage they can cause—“

Alex bristled a little. “And I’ve seen the damage you _Templars_ can cause—“

“I’m not denying that,” Cullen said. “But I’m also not a Templar anymore, as you are not a Circle mage.”

Alexander took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. That was…unfair of me. You have been nothing but helpful in every way, Cullen. Ha, you gave me half your clothes after Haven.”

“I have judged mages before I knew them, sometimes without cause. I have made an effort to never be that kind of man again.” The commander smiled crookedly. “And, please—keep the clothes. They were a mess before I gave them to you.”

Alex laughed at that, quietly. “Screw you, Cullen.”

“Do you remember what you said to me when we brought you to the camp after we found you in the snow?”

Alex looked sidelong at him. “I don’t really remember anything—except waking up in your hand-me-downs like I’m your little brother or something.”

Cullen grinned. “You are a _bit_ like my brother. How are you at chess?”

“Abysmal.”

“Really?” he asked, interested. “Most mages I’ve met seem to enjoy the game a great deal.”

“I don’t have the patience for it. I never did. I’m better at cards.”

“I suppose we’re either one or the other. I am terrible at cards. Anyway—you said that same thing to me when we brought you in from the snow. You were exhausted, ice was packed into your clothes, you were covered in blood and dust and bruises. Your back, shoulders, everything—it hurt just looking at you. Dorian and Solas did everything they could to help. Solas even sat by to ensure the Mark didn’t flare up. An apostate, a Tevinter, a rebel mage and a former-Templar, all sitting in the same tent, with a Seeker pacing restlessly outside.”

Alex snorted. “Dark magic of magister darkspawn, bringing people together since 9:41 Dragon.”

“Perhaps we should let Corypheus know that when we see him next.”

“Yeah, attach it to an arrow and give it to Sera. She’ll make sure it reaches him.”

Cullen smiled faintly, then glanced aside. “I suppose what I’m getting at here is…I have seen the violence of the uprising. I saw both sides. I was in Kirkwall.”

Alex started, eyes shooting over to him. “You…were in Kirkwall? You're _that_ Knight-Captain Rutherford?”

“Yes,” Cullen said, quieter, looking out over the frozen lake. “I’m sure you’ve heard the stories.”

“Yeah…” he murmured, looking down and touching the stone walls. _Maker's fucking breath...poor bastard._

“I tell you that only to relate. If you….would ever wish to discuss what occurred, my door is open.”

Alex swallowed hard, turning to look at the Templar again, meeting his amber gaze. “I…” he looked down. “Thank you, Cullen. You’re a good guy.”

“Perhaps one day.”

“All right, you’re a good guy for a Templar, then.”

That made Cullen laugh. “And you’re not so bad for a mage. A little small in the shoulders but if you would like to train with me, we can fix that.”

“Careful, Curly.”

Alexander pointed at him, smirking. He hadn't been sure what to make of Cullen at first. Nothing about him seemed very Templar fraternity brother. In fact, Cullen was really close enough in age to be in his group of friends from Ostwick. Weird.

“Can you use a spear?” Cullen went on.

“A spear is basically the same as a staff. They’re just weighted differently. We learned mostly non-bladed combat staff techniques though—not anything specific to spears or pole-arms.”

“We have people here who specialize in pole-arms and glaives, Trevelyan. Would you be interested in learning from them?”

Alex looked thoughtful. “Yeah, you know—I would.”

Cullen nodded, looking approving. “Good. Come down tomorrow morning to the forward camp by the lake. It’s mostly refugees down there but we’ve constructed a larger training circle.”

“I’ll be there, Commander.”

By the time he reentered the keep, it was deep into the night. Solas seemed to be the only one up and around. 

“Hey Solas,” he greeted, still not quite looking at him as he made to just keep walking.

“A moment, Inquisitor.”

Alex took a deep breath. “Look, Solas—if this is about earlier—it’s—“

“It’s not—though it could be, were you wanting to speak about it.”

Alex’s shoulders tensed a little. “I….would rather not.”

“I will not force you—perhaps I might be able to assist in another way. Leliana tells me that your dreams have been violent and disturbed, of late.”

The Inquisitor huffed. “Geez, she really _is_ watching me everywhere.”

“I can help you learn to control your dreams. Lucid dreaming would allow you to explore the Fade deeply and would minimize the shock of memories when they resurface.”

Alexander looked at him a long moment. “Oh. I. Well. Uh—wouldn’t want to impose but…”

“I am offering.”

“All right, Solas. Uh. Tomorrow I’m going down to the refugee camps to learn about using pole-arms with Cullen. So…any time after that—or whenever you wanted to—we could start. It’s up to you though,” he raised his hands, as if to emphasize that the choice was Solas’. 

“A solid foundation in staff training is useful for any mage. Perhaps I could accompany you?”

Alexander stared at him. “I—yeah. Sure, buddy. I—sure.”

“You seem surprised.”

“Well, I…I am, actually. You don’t seem very fond of Circle mages or humans. And I’m both of those things.”

The elf narrowed his eyes, studying the Inquisitor. “I apologize. My poor manners shame me—you have tried at every turn to be respectful and I presumed you unobservant and impatient.”

“Well, I _am_ kind of impatient. I can’t lie there. I have a hard time waiting and holding back when we get attacked.” He shook his head a little, half-smiling.

“You are simply stubborn in your desire to protect your companions. You wish to be in the same danger as Cassandra—perhaps you feel the need to prove yourself to her in some way. But you did not judge me by my pointed ears and I should not have judged you by your rounded ones.”

“Can’t lie there either, pal.”

Solas smiled, a little quirk in his grin that made his steel-blue eyes twinkle. “Then meet me in the rotunda in the morning and we will go to see what Cullen can teach us.”

“Both of us? Are you sure you can’t already use stuff like that?”

“Not all my skills are magical, true; but I but it never hurts to be reminded.”

“You just…kind of come off as being older than you…are. I guess. An old soul, my grandmother used to say.

“A wise woman, your grandmother.”

“Well, I dunno if I'd go _that_ far. I mean, she also likes black licorice. But if you don’t mind my asking, how old _are_ you, Solas?”

The elf gave him that mysterious little smile. “Older than a child but not dead.”

“Oh, does an elf never reveal his age?”

“If you aren’t a child and you aren’t dead, then what does age matter?”

Alex eyed him. He couldn’t really argue with that, he supposed. It bugged him a little that Solas seemed to know it, too. “Smartass. You just don’t want to reveal your skin secrets or something?”

Solas chuckled. “Do you desire to have Cassandra complimenting your complexion?”

“No—well, yeah, but not like that. But Dorian might pay for it. Even I need spending money.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Inquisitor.”

“Oh, thanks, Solas.” He started to turn away and then paused and looked back at the elf. “Hey, uh—for real, though. Thanks.”

Solas closed his eyes and inclined his head. 

 

 

 

The next morning, Alexander headed down to the rotunda. Solas was already there, sipping a cup of weak tea as he studied the paintings he was working on.

“Elven graffiti?” he asked, grinning.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Not bad. Needs more flying horses though.”

“I’ll note that for the next one.”

The two mages headed outside, both carrying their staves. Skyhold was filling fast, already a din of conversations as they headed down the steps of the main keep.

“You know we needed more dragonthorn—“

“It’s so rare around here—we might be able to order something—“

“—someone in the refugee camps at the lake might—“

“We don’t need anymore mages—“

“Did you hear that Lady Nichette’s set of bells went missing? All five of them.”

“They hurry to your cause, Inquisitor.” Solas gestured magnanimously around the buzzing camp.

“Awfully quick to paint this as mine, aren’t you?" Alexander scoffed. "Besides, what do you care? You don’t really strike me as religious.” 

“How do I strike you?”

“As someone who values cause and effect a little more.”

Solas nodded. “I cannot deny that. Do you believe you are chosen, Inquisitor?”

“I’ve been raised with this Chantry bullshit my whole life. But I’ve also been to the Fade. The idea that there’s some Maker who got all pissed off at us and so just started ignoring the mess He made because we weren’t perfect little ants seems like bullshit. But—I also have a hard time believing that all of this could be random too. So. I don’t know. I’ve seen the Black City—it looked pretty real to me. But if the Maker is so powerful—and He’s in control of everything—then why would he let magisters kick his door in and start some shit with him? Was it the will of the Maker for some Tevinter mages to break in and trash his house? Because that just sounds like Circle apprentices on a Saturday night when the Templars are confined to the lower levels. Too much mead was involved. So drunken shenanigans happened.”

Solas laughed at that, loud enough that Alexander did a double-take at the reserved elf. “Perhaps someone put them up to these ‘shenanigans’?”

“Yeah, Corypheus said that. Went there in the name of another. Found it empty and was really pissed about it. Like when an older student took me aside when I was nine and told me if I went outside and got some Deep Mushrooms for him, he’d give me a fun new spell to learn.”

“And what happened?”

“I went outside, found some mushrooms. He took them and then he locked me in a broom closet for three hours.” Alex shrugged. “Seems like the same thing kind of happened to Corypheus. Only it was the Maker's broom closet and it was a thousand years.”

“I wonder how he would feel, hearing his accomplishments described that way?”

Alexander scoffed. “His accomplishments? What, being one of those who might have created Blight?”

“An accomplishment is not always noble, feats are not always great. He has done terrible things, things no one should be able to do—but that he did them is still impressive.”

Alex blew a lock of hair from his eyes. “Yeah, I suppose. But he’s still a piece of shit.”

“I suppose that cannot be denied, Inquisitor.”

“Inquisitor!” Cullen called, waving to them as they descended into the refugee camp. “Over here.”

“I look forward to seeing what the Circle has taught you, Inquisitor.”

“Yeah, keep that smug look on your face, elf-boy.”

Cullen smiled at them. “Good morning—though it’s hardly still morning. It’s almost nine. Solas, I was not expecting you. Do you need something?”

“No, Commander. I thought simply to refresh my knowledge of pole-arms. My own knowledge is based around ancient elven techniques.”

“We’ll try to find you a glaive that sings sweetly and produces rainbows. That’s what elven glaives do, right?” Alex told him and then burst out laughing when Solas eyed him.

“Well then,” Cullen said, fighting a smile and waving over another man. “Here is your instructor. This is Master Carlin Grant. He was an officer in Fereldan and he’s one of our best spear instructors.”

Master Grant had a stormy brow and brilliant green eyes. He looked over Alexander and then Solas. He scowled. “What’s this one doing here? Elves are usually not strong enough to handle my style of training.”

Alex blinked but before he could say a word, Solas answered, eyes hooded. “I’ll manage.”

“You have a problem with elves, Master Grant?”

“No—got an elven servant who smiths for me. Just don’t usually get elves who want to train with me. I won’t hear any complaints.”

Solas seemed to barely manage not to roll his eyes. He looked dryly over the instructor. “I’ll attempt to restrain myself.”

Alex snorted.

“Find that funny, boy?”

Alex fought back a smile. “I’m sorry, Master Grant.”

“You soft little Circle mages,” he scowled.

“I am _not_ a Circle mage,” Solas countered immediately.

“All right,” Cullen cut off Grant, when he opened his mouth. “Stop wasting time. Grant, if you can’t handle training with an elf or a mage, then you have no place in the Inquisition. Get to it or get out.”

“Apologies, Commander. Inquisitor, I was chosen because you must learn quickly. I will be harsh and direct.” He looked behind him. “Revan!”

His elven smith appeared from around a stone forge. She was slight, like Solas, but was taut with lean muscle. “Master Grant?”

“Get over here and measure these two. Don’t get too chummy with the elf. He’s here with the Inquisitor.”

Alex shot a look at Cullen, gesturing out with his hands. _Seriously? This guy?_

Cullen shrugged, grimacing and had to excuse himself to oversee some of the new recruits. 

She approached swiftly with a length of leather. “Inquisitor,” she said softly, inclining her head and then stood on a log to measure him against the strip of leather. “Seventy-five inches, Master Grant.” And then she turned to Solas. Something odd seemed to cross her face and she kept her eyes lowered when she measured him. “Seventy-one inches, Master Grant.”

“Get the Inquisitor the heavy obsidian and get something else for the elf—silverite, if we’ve got it.”

Her eyes narrowed a little. “The enchanted ones or no?” 

“Don’t get smart with me, girl, or I’ll cut your ears off at the tips.”

The smith inclined her head to Alex and Solas and turned to hurry away. She returned carrying two pole-arms. “My Lord Inquisitor,” she said, offering the heavy obsidian one to him. “Master Solas,” she said, a little quieter. She handed him the silverite and then stepped back.

Alex stepped forward first, intending to bear the brunt of whatever punishment Grant felt like dishing out. He was bigger than Solas and broader—it might be better to wear Grant’s annoyance out a little. 

“You had any training, boy?” Granted asked him.

“No formal hand-to-hand. I’ve had some staff training.”

“Well, I suppose that’s shit then. They wouldn’t want you getting too dangerous around Templars.”

Alex scoffed softly. “Yeah, wouldn’t want us being able to defend ourselves when they suppress our magic.”

The man glared hard at him. “Cry me a river, mage.”

Alex scowled and rolled out his shoulders. 

Grant took no mercy on him. He was strong as an ox. He seemed pleased to beat the stuffing out of the Inquisitor. Alex didn’t mind—he _did_ have to learn. It was just, the longer it went on, the more intent Grant seemed to get. Alex was forced to defend at every strike. The longer he didn’t yield, the more Grant seemed to want to make him. 

“Not going to use magic on me, Inquisitor?” he asked, sliding passed him and punching the blunted end into Alex’s back.

“That depends,” Alex answered, whirling away. “You want this to be training or do you want me to kill you?”

“Cocky little shit. You know how many mages I killed when I was a Templar?”

“Oh, I see now. You’re a _Templar_. No wonder you’re so grouchy.”

“I know all about you Circle mages and the _apostates_ ,” he said, spitting the word like it was some disgusting disease. “You lot rebel, murder innocent people and then the Maker gives _you_ his mark? The world we live in.”

“I defended myself when the Templars turned on us. I didn’t kill any people.”

“Templars _are_ people. People trying to protect you from yourselves.”

Heat flooded into his eyes. Robb falling from the mezzanine. Coming downstairs to find the poor Tranquil, Damien, held down to a table as the Templar _forced_ his way inside of him. Sasette, screaming. Screaming. Screami—

“Alexander,” Solas called over. “He is trying to make you angry.”

“It’s working,” Alex growled.

“Try to keep focused, Alexander.”

“Quiet, knife-ear. I’ll deal with—“

Alexander smashed the butt of his pole-arm into Grant’s stomach. “ _Don’t_ call him that.”

Grant held his gut, the wind knocked out of him.

“Perhaps, we should switch,” Solas suggested. “Before someone gets carried away.”

Alexander looked at the ground, taking a few deep breathes to try and calm himself. After they traded places, he watched the man closely when he worked with Solas—though the elf clearly had no problems at all keeping up with him. It seemed to frustrate Master Grant. Solas was incredible. Amazing. He was fast, light and far stronger than his lithe frame presented. Alexander clearly need not have worried about Solas at all. He noted the smith watching with a little smirk on her face when Solas swept around Master Grant as easy as air, hooking the master under his left foot and flipping him.

Grant got up, sweating and angry as a hornet. “Is this some kind of joke, Inquisitor?” 

“Fuck you.”

“Why bring this one to me? He’s clearly been trained.”

“That sounds like the words of someone who is afraid to lose,” Solas said, very calmly.

Grant narrowed an eye at him. “No. You’ve been trained, elf. And trained _well_. Who taught you?”

“It would not matter what I told you—you would not believe me.”

Grant peered at Solas hard. He threw his staff to the ground. “Revan—get out here.”

The smith hurried forward.

“Wipe that fucking smile off your face, girl. Take the weapons. Bring me back two glaives.”

She looked at Solas, then at him. “Master Grant—“

He grabbed her by the hair, jerking her into him. “Go get them.” He threw her down. 

Solas raised a hand to stop Alexander before he could start forward. “There are surely better ways to attempt to make me angry than to bully a servant.”

“I’m not, knife-ear.”

“Goddammit, stop calling him that—“

“Shut your fucking mouth. Not everyone bends over for you, Inquisitor.”

When Revan returned with the glaives, Master Grant shoved her forward. “Fight the elf. I want to watch his form.”

Revan’s eyes widened. “Master Grant—“

“Do it.”

Solas frowned.

Revan handed Solas one of the glaives.

 _“Da'len,_ you do not need to fight me. I will stop this now.”

“I gave her an order, elf. And right now, you’re still training.”

“If that’s what you call this,” Solas sneered at him.

“It is.”

She looked awfully small standing in front of Solas. The glaive was almost twice her height. But as Alexander watched her, she held it comfortably. “Master Solas.” She inclined her head in a slight bow to him. The shaft of the glaives were obsidian for about eight feet. The last two feet was a long, split blade made of dawnstone. The weapon was oddly balanced and heavy, clearly only something to be used with training.

She seemed to have it as she readied herself and then shot forward, flipping the glaive and slamming the lower half of the shaft into Solas' left arm. The power behind the strike nearly staggered the elven mage, unprepared for the strength behind it. Alexander blinked in surprise.

“I said fight him! If I wanted to give him probing touches, I’d get him a fucking whore!”

Solas peered at her and then nodded. He dashed at her and the two locked. He spun his glaive, intending to wrench hers from her but she whirled away. Dancing on tip toes, letting herself fall to the ground and kicking Solas’ legs out beneath him. The mage looked surprised and a little amused when he got up. He smiled at her, examining her more closely. 

Their fighting was fierce, flashing by each other. She seemed to have an uncanny sense for this, which Alexander recognized immediately as some kind of arcane gift. He could feel it in her. 

But then he looked at Grant, who was watching Solas with an intensity that was almost eerie. “Stop!”

The two elves had whirled, running at each other. At Grant’s word, Solas stopped immediately, flipping his glaive up and under hers as she had been too absorbed to hear the master’s command. Solas turned the blades of both upward, grabbing Revan to him to stop her momentum. Her nose smooshed up against his collarbone. He felt her tense up against his chest but Solas held her there a moment.

Grant circled the two elves, Solas following the man with his steely blue eyes. “Never seen someone who uses a glaive like you do, Master Solas.”

Alexander peered at the man.

“Forgive my being a prick, Your Worship. Cullen said he wanted this to be like a real fight.”

Solas and Alexander exchanged a look and the elf slowly released Revan. She did not seem surprised, just resigned. 

“Get away from him, Revan. He don’t need to smell like servants the rest of the day.”

The woman carefully offered to take the glaives and turned away with them, silently.

“Thought you were done being a prick?” Alex sneered.

Grant snorted. “She’s just a servant.” He circled Solas again. “I’ve studied this for years and I’ve _never_ met someone who moves like you do. You anticipated almost everything she did once you realized that she actually knew what she was doing.”

“I learned in the Fade. If you know who I am, you’ve heard the stories, I imagine.”

“Spend more time in the Fade than out of it,” Grant said, tonguing his cheek. “Interesting.”

“Were you really a Templar?” Alex asked him.

“I was,” Grant said, scratching his stubble. “A long time ago, Inquisitor.” 

“Apparently not as long ago as this conversation needs to be.” Alexander gestured to Solas. “Let’s get out of here. This guy is an asshole.”

“You’ll return tomorrow.”

“Fuck you,” Alexander told him. “I don’t give a shit how good you are. I’ll learn from Solas before I learn from you.”

“Inquisitor, I said those things only to anger you.”

“Well, it fucking worked. You wanna make fun of my dead friends—do it on your own time.”

“You’re being obstinate and childish.”

“Oh yeah? Ask me why I should give a shit about your opinion.” 

“This is the Inquisitor. A man who runs off at the first sign of someone difficult? If you can’t handle my barbs, how will you handle others?”

Alexander’s shoulders hunched. He was trying to suppress the anger that was building inside of him. 

“He’s younger than you, Carlin. Do you remember being that young? It's harder now. There's so much gone. So much that you _made_ be gone. Even before the last Blight and the water full of eyes,” said Cole, who suddenly seemed to appear from nowhere. 

Grant stared at him. “….wha—who are you?”

Cole looked at Alexander instead. “I’ve thought of a way to help.” He smiled. “Knock, knock?”

Alexander stared at him too. “Wha—Cole—I….” and then he smiled a little and sighed, “…..all right. Who’s there?”

“Cole.”

“Cole, who?”

“It’s me. Cole. That is my name.”

Alexander looked at him for a long moment and then burst out laughing. “You’re the best, Cole. C’mon—let’s drag Solas up to the keep and get him a drink.” He waved to Grant. “I’ll be back tomorrow, you asshole. If you try that crap again though—I’ll kick the shit out of you for real.” He slapped Cole on the shoulder, turning away to walk with the spirit.


	4. Diagram

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diagram party banter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IiIsRrqVaYQ  
> \-----
> 
> “I asked Dorian to explain but he. Couldn’t. So he drew this picture. But I still don’t understand.”
> 
> “Wow,” Iron Bull said, tilting his head sideways. “I didn’t know he could draw.”
> 
> “Right?” said Sera, examining it again. “It’s pretty good.”

“Alexander,” Cole said quietly.

The Inquisitor managed not to jump this time. He was getting used to Cole being able to appear and disappear wherever he pleased. Still, the kid was sneaky, even without the disappearing trick. 

“Oh, Cole—hey. How are you, pal?”

“I am all right. I have. Questions. I wanted to know if I could ask you.”

“Sure, kid. What’s up?”

Cole held out a scrap of paper. “I asked Dorian to explain so he drew me a picture but I still don’t understand. But he won’t _tell_ me.”

Alexander frowned and reached out to take it. He opened it up.

He closed his eyes _extremely_ hard and opened them again. “Wow. I didn’t know Dorian could draw.”

“Do you understand?”

Alexander shifted a little. “Um. Well. Yes. But, uh…I can see why he…..uh. Might have felt awkward explaining it.”

“It’s hard for him to say the words. He chokes when he thinks about it. He doesn’t _mean_ to. It’s not a woman, in his head. There’s so much hurt but if I can’t understand then I can’t help.”

Alexander did a slight double-take. Oh. _Oh._ “I think I see the issue. C’mon, kid. Time for the big brother talk.”

“All right,” Cole said, as if bracing himself. 

Alexander wasn’t about to do this alone, however. He led Cole to the tavern and collected Sera and Iron Bull. He also collected a round of mugs for mead and whatever that horrible acid was that Iron Bull drank. He took them to a small, secluded corner.

“What’s about, then?” Sera asked.

“Right. So. I figure you two are the best people to ask for assistance in this endeavor.”

“Inquisitor stuff?” Sera asked.

“Uh. No. Cole here,” he gestured to the spirit, who sat next to him, “….asked me to explain something to him. And while I understand it, I feel like maybe some extra….um. You two are needed.” He ended, more abruptly than he meant to. “So. Take a look.” He handed them the scrap of paper.

Iron Bull opened it up and burst out laughing. Sera leaned over his massive arm and dissolved into giggles. 

“Where did you get this, kid?” Bull asked.

“I asked Dorian to explain but he. Couldn’t. So he drew this picture. But I still don’t understand.”

“Wow,” Iron Bull said, tilting his head sideways. “I didn’t know he could draw.”

“Right?” said Sera, examining it again. “It’s pretty good.”

Alexander took a long drink from his mug. “Yeah. So. Uh. I wasn’t sure how to begin.”

“Did you even have a chance to get this far when you were in the Circle?” Iron Bull asked.

Alex’s shoulders hunched. “Oh, shut up.”

“So, no?”

“I _did_! It was just….uh. Well. None of us really knew what we were doing either.”

“Ugh,” Bull grimaced. “Poor Cassandra. How much older is she than you? She might have some experience, at least, under that armor.”

“This isn’t about me, Bull!”

“Can you help?” Cole asked them.

“Oh yeah,” Iron Bull grinned. He slid a mug of mead to Cole. “Drink that down, kid. This might take some doing.”

Cole gently took the mug and brought it to his mouth, sipping at it. “It’s not as bitter as yours,” he said.

“Very little is,” Bull told him. He sat back on the bench, looking at the drawing. He looked at Cole and then looked back at the drawing. “Right. So.” 

He looked at Cole again. And then looked at Alexander.

The human mage crossed his arms, eyes hooded. “Having trouble?”

“Give me that!” Sera took the drawing away. “I’ll do it. Cole. This is called _sex_.”

Alexander buried his nose in his mug, taking a deep drink from it.

Sera breaking the ice seemed to help Iron Bull, who watched her flawlessly describe the lady in the picture and assured Cole that she was not being hurt at all. 

“So. It is good, then?” Cole asked curiously.

“Yes. Providing that he knows what he’s doing.”

“How does he know that?”

“Only through experience, typically.”

“So because in Dorian’s head—it’s not a woman, he would not be good at it?”

Sera and Iron Bull both blinked, straightening up. 

“Is it a man in Dorian’s head?” Sera asked.

“Yes,” Cole said, face still curious. 

Sera raised her eyebrows at Iron Bull. He sighed, took out three Royals and gave them to her.

“Right, so—it’s different with a man,” Iron Bull said.

“But why does it _hurt_ him inside?” Cole asked plaintively.

That seemed to somber Bull and Sera, seeing that, as funny as it was—Cole was not asking for any lewd reason. He wanted to _help_ Dorian, who must have been in a great deal of pain. Alex, Sera and Bull all exchanged slightly guilty looks with their mugs.

“Okay, for real now,” Iron Bull said, as Cole observed their silence. “Dorian is from Tevinter. A man liking other men there is considered bad.”

“But why?”

“Because…well. Some people think that a man only belongs with a woman and vice versus.”

“Is it only for men, then? Sera thinks about women.”

“It’s for both—but this is the south. It’s not considered too weird here. But Tevinter is different.”

“Why is Tevinter different?”

“Because they’re arseholes,” Sera summed up.

“Oh,” said Cole. “So it made Dorian’s father hate him?”

Alex frowned deeply at his mug. Sera looked at hers as well. Iron Bull simply looked a bit sad. “Yes. If that’s what you saw in his head—that’s probably why his father hates him.”

“People can’t choose who they like, who they’re attracted to,” Sera said softly, turning her mug in her fingers. “Some pissers think we can. But we can’t. Sex is supposed to be about, you know—feeling good sometimes. But sometimes it’s supposed to be about love and shit too.”

“So he becomes so sad because he feels like he can’t love anyone. And no one will ever truly love him.” Cole looked at his own mug. “That’s sad. I see why he is hurting inside.”

The three of them glanced at each other.

“Do you…does that help you understand, Cole?” Alexander asked quietly.

“Yes,” he said somberly. “I believe I understand. He wants to be that close to someone but he can’t. Maybe now I can help.” He got up and vanished.

For a long moment the three of them sat in silence.

“Well. I feel like a right arse now,” Sera said.

“Yeah,” Alex agreed softly.

Iron Bull poured each of them some of the noxious ale he drank. “If we ever meet Dorian’s father, we kick his ass.”

They all drank. 

 

 

Alexander went down to the camps by himself that day, working with Grant until he was dripping sweat and sporting several gashes (that he hoped would look rather dashing). The man said nothing about Solas and only grimaced when Alex told him the elf wasn’t coming. 

“I’d be careful about him, Inquisitor. Something with that elf doesn’t seem quite right.”

Alex just rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get started.”

Afterwards, the smith approached him to take the glaive he’d been using. “E-excuse me. My Lord Inquisitor.”

Alex smiled a little. “You don’t have to be all formal. You can just call me Alexander.”

“No—I—ha, I would get an earful if I did that, my lord. I only wanted to offer—that—well, I know you already have a smith up at the keep. I just thought that…if you or, um, or Master Solas ever wanted your own glaive or spear…I would be honored to make it.”

Alex raised his eyebrows. “Really? Well, thank you. I might take you up on that. I’ll ask Solas about it. Maybe I can get him to come down here with me again—haha, providing he and Grant can get along.”

He saw her fight a little smile and look around for the instructor to ensure he was out of earshot. “He was furious after you left, my lord. Solas is—er, Master Solas is amazing. He’s much better than me.”

“You looked like you could handle yourself all right.”

“Well—Master Solas didn’t even break a sweat. He’s amazing. I—just the way he moved,” she said, her eyes becoming bright and far away suddenly. “He was so fluid and every action had a purpose. No wasted energy. And he was so fast when Master Grant called us to stop. I didn’t hear him in time—but Master Solas—he was so fast. He kept us from skewering each other.”

“Oh yeah, he grabbed you to help you stop.”

She looked embarrassed but pleased. “Yes—he—grabbed me around the waist. I—wasn’t expecting it. He spoke kindly to me afterwards—he didn’t need to. I—I wanted to thank him but…with Master Grant around, well…”

Alex looked at her sidelong and double-checked around them again before he leaned in. “You like Solas, eh?”

She jerked back, but the way her eyes widened and went to the ground was pretty telling. “Oh, I—no. I—it’s nothing like…like that. I—“

“It’s all right,” Alex told her with a wink. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“My lord, I—please, it’s not necess—“

“Revan! Get that glaive over here. I want new edges on it today.”

He watched the brightness leave her eyes. “Excuse me, My lord,” she said and turned to hurry back.

Alexander grinned and went back up to the keep. He slid in by the rotunda, where Solas was studying one of the shards of glowing stone they’d found in the Hinterlands. “Hey, Solas! Solas!”

The elf kept studying the shard, though his eyes flicked up to acknowledge him. “What can I do for you, Lethalin?”

“Solas—remember that elven smith from the camps? I think she has a thing for you.”

Whatever Solas was expecting to hear, it apparently wasn’t that. He stared at Alex. “….what?”

“Revan—the smith. Pretty little thing, big blue eyes, brown hair. She was telling me today how much she enjoyed sparring with you. Even offered to make us both our own weapons if we wanted them. But she definitely has a sweet spot for you.”

Solas huffed and looked back at the shard. “And what would you expect me to do about that?”

Alex blinked. “Wha—is she not your type?”

Solas’ shoulders stiffened a little. “I do not dally with any random woman I come across.”

“I wasn’t saying you should do _that_ , Solas,” Alex told him, a little surprised by the severity in his expression. “I just was saying—she’s pretty and she’s into you, I think. You should talk to her.”

“Why?” He said bluntly, opening one of his books.

Alex reached down in front of him, putting his hand over the book to make Solas look up. “Because there’s more to life than books and the Fade and giant walking murderous monstrosities that want to kill us.”

“But that is what is important.”

Alex tilted his head. “Then what are you doing here? I mean—what are you fighting for then?”

“The world.”

“That’s a big thing to have no attachment to, Solas. Especially for how much you seem to dislike the people in it.”

Solas sighed softly. “I find my peace in other ways, Alexander.”

“I’m not saying you should marry her, Solas, geez. Getting to know her might be nice though. She seems like a nice girl and she knows how to fight, if nothing else. Plus, that Grant is such a jerk to her. She said you spoke kindly to her and she wanted to thank you but didn’t get the chance. You should at _least_ go down and let her thank you properly.”

Solas looked at him, seeming annoyed. He sighed. 

_Got him_. He grinned. “I thought you had manners, at least.”

Solas shook his head. “Fine. I suppose so. For politeness sake.”

“C’mon, Solas. What’s the harm in getting to know someone?”

The elf looked down and away and a strange expression came over his face. Alex wasn’t sure how to describe it. It was some mix of pensive, sadness, uncertainty and agitation. He stood up from his chair. “Alexander, do you know how darkspawn came to be?”

Alex raised his eyebrows at the abrupt change in topic. “Er…well—the Chantry says darkspawn came to be when the magisters breached the Fade in physical form and entered the Black City.”

“What if that story had been twisted? What if the Veil had not always existed? I’ve been deep into the Fade and seen strange memories and dreams. They cannot be taken at face-value, of course, just like our own memories, but I found a few that told a different story. The Veil did not always exist to protect us from the Fade. The Veil was a construct. When it was put in place, there was chaos. The state of magic changed, the state of the world and its races changed. Those who could adapt, did. But there were some who could not. According to those dreams from the deep Fade—those who could not adapt became darkspawn.”

“Shit, wow. That would be….terrible.”

“Sometimes the truths we find are difficult to bear. If this fragment of a dream held even a grain of truth, it would upset everything humans know about their Maker.”

Alexander crossed his arms. “What’s that got to do with an elf who maybe wants to chat you up sometime?”

Solas paused and then huffed. “I see you are not letting your impatience get the better of you today.”

Alexander burst out laughing. “Nice try, Solas.”

“Go take a bath. You stink.”

Alex laughed his way out of the room. 

 

 

Alexander headed into the war room instead, intending to stop by and check progress on a few projects they had in the works. It was empty though, except for Cassandra.

“Oh, hey,” he said, half-smiling at her, letting his eyes wander down the line of her hip as he approached. He touched her spine.

She looked at him. “Alexander, how was your training with Master Grant?”

“Good, good…what are you doing in here?”

“Trying to imagine what this map will look like when we are finished.”

“When we’re finished? When you and me are finished? Oh, you wanted to start something on the table?”

Cassandra looked startled. “I—I did not say such a thing!”

“That’s all right. I said it for you.” He kissed her.

Her fingers curled into his clothes and she broke away to breath. “You smell like dust, sweat, and blood.”

“That’s like perfume for you, right?” He mimicked one of the aged alchemists from the Circle, with the bleary eyes and skin so wrinkled that he looked like a raisin. He had a wavering voice that croaked like a rusted cell door. “It attracts the attention of the female and turns her thoughts to the—”

She shoved at his shoulder. “Does leather do it for you?”

“Yeah, so long as you’re the one wearing it.” He slid his arm around her waist, pulling her up against him. 

“We should not—not in here. Commander Cullen could return at any moment.”

“Oh, so I should make him jealous?”

Cassandra sighed at him. “It would not be—“

He kissed her, grinning against her mouth and backing her against the table. 

“Alexander—“

He kissed her nose, hand sliding down to cup her thigh, scooping it up. He tipped her back and she tried to grab into him. He grinned, kneeling over her on the war room table. 

“You have too much energy,” Cassandra told him grumpily. “I can tell from the smell that you just returned. Should you not be more tired?”

“Ah, maybe it’s just you? You give me energy?”

He felt her fingers thread into his auburn hair and curl into the strands. “How much energy?”

He saw her eyes darken. He grinned. “Enough for a young buck like me to keep up with you.” His fingers went to the catches of her body armor.

“Do not remind me,” Cassandra told him. “The Sisters will say I rob the cradle and they will tell you that you rob the grave.”

“If I’m robbing the grave, then apparently, the undead are way sexier than I remember.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes but there was a slight flush in her cheeks. “You know, I had not considered your age at all until Varric pointed it out to me. Did you not consider mine?”

“Not really. You don’t really look that old, Cass. I mean, yeah—you’re not some maid but you’ve got battle scars and experience. You’re a woman. A strong, fierce, independent and terrifying woman. You’re beautiful.”

“I have been called many things. Beautiful has never been one of them.”

“That’s because weak men are intimidated by you.” He smiled at her. “Besides, what about my age? I suppose I should be the nervous one here.”

“How old are you, Alexander?”

“Twenty-seven. I had done my Harrowing about three years before the Rebellion began.”

“Did you stay to study?”

“Well—I mean….where do you go when the Circle is all you really know? We’re cut off from our families when we go to the Circles. I didn’t really have Vivienne’s flair for people. A friend of mine wanted me to attend her Harrowing and I was studying astronomy pretty intently. There were problems in every Circle but it was always on the horizon. We protected each other from the Templars when we could. Most were afraid of forcibly being made Tranquil.”

“Did your friend go through the Harrowing?” Cassandra asked. She watched his eyes darken, looking away from her.

“Yes…she did—about a year before the Rebellion began. But, well….the Templars thought she was possessed…thought she was taking too long. She was an elf. The supervisors started to suspect that she…had encountered something besides the demon they’d summoned. Sasette was a brilliant mage. She had an interest in shape-shifting—which isn’t permitted in the Circles—and I suspect that that was why they killed her. She was still aware—one of the younger Templars panicked, I guess—he stabbed her. She screamed and…well, that was that. The others acted—they did exactly what they would have done for a failed Harrowing. His panic scared them, I think. They annulled around me and the instructors and they just…kept stabbing her. Haha, I guess they weren’t sure how dead she could be.”

“That is the one who Cole mentioned—“

“Yes…” He sighed. “I’m sorry about all that, by the way. I know it’s…nothing. Compared to all this shit.” He braced his hands on either side of her head and then stood up, cupping her thigh. 

She sat up to touch his face. “I am sorry I did not find you afterwards. To be honest, I was not sure what I would say.”

“Things changed after that. Her death and the way it happened hit me hard. When the rebellion began, well….things were bad everywhere.” He smiled crookedly.

“That does not mean that you cannot mourn, Alexander.”

“Yeah, well….” He half-smiled, glancing away. “I’d rather just kiss you.” He grabbed her before she could object, kissing her hard. 

She pulled him back by his hair, searching his face. “I will not let anything take you from me, Alexander. To the death.”

He blinked at her, still a bit surprised sometimes by her sheer intensity. “I….Cass…I—“

“To the death,” she repeated and pulled him in to her again.


	5. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I will catalog every pain, every insult, every mark,” she growled to him. “And I will exact vengeance a hundred times from Corypheus and his ilk. They will _pay_ for this.”
> 
> Alexander managed a crooked smile. “You…ha….you always know how to make a guy feel special.”  
> \------------------
> 
> Music, if you like that sort of thing, that I listened to for this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1IR2k6-_Hmc

The explosion rocked Skyhold to its foundations. Cassandra was on her feet in a flash. She’d been sitting with some of the night guards. She threw open the small door and raced down the steps into the main yard, just inside the man gates. 

And stopped. 

She stared up at _his_ windows. Billowing smoke and fire belched out of the Inquisitor’s windowed doors, raining shards of colored glass everywhere. 

Cullen came running out of his office above her. “Bar the gates! Close them all!” He commanded. He did a double-take when he saw the Seeker, standing still as a statue. “Cassandra!”

The Seeker stared up at the fire, motionless. 

“Cassandra!”

The warrior startled, looking up at Cullen. The two nodded and Cassandra sprinted for the stairs. People were flooding out of the main keep. There were screams and cries.

Solas dodged into the hall as Cassandra entered, slashing with his staff to stop a hunk of stone from falling on her. “Where is the Inquisitor!”

Cassandra looked at the elf and—

_BAM!_

A second explosion rocked the hall. Cassandra took off, racing up to Alexander’s door. She slammed her shoulder against it. “Why is this door _locked_?!”

Cullen was running her way. “Is he upstairs!?”

“This door has been locked from the other side!”

“What!”

Cassandra took down a war hammer from the wall, braced herself and swung. The wide head smashed into the wood. It was wrenched off its hinges. Another hit smashed it into the floor. She threw the hammer aside and bolted. Cullen followed her. Solas waved down Leliana and then hurried after them. Cole appeared in a flash next to the elf.

The Inquisitor’s tower shook, groaning as it tried to settle.

Cassandra hit the second door. It was also locked. She grabbed onto the doorframe. Cullen grabbed onto her to steady her as a _third_ blast made Solas and Cole dive for the railings in case the tower went over. They all froze, not daring to shift their weight.

Except for Cassandra, who screamed wordlessly in rage. She punched through the door, wood splintering around her gauntlet. The Seeker grabbed the wood and ripped the door right off its hinges. Cassandra tore it apart and ran up the stairs.

The entire room was black with smoke. 

“Alexander!” She roared. 

She ran to the bed first, knowing that was the most likely spot for him to be this late at night. The bed was in ruins but he didn’t seem to be in it. She whirled around and wrenched open one of the closet doors. “Alex!”

He was there, lying very still. Far too still.

“Alexander!” Cassandra threw herself to her knees beside him. 

Cullen glanced at Solas as the mage put the fires out and then back at the Seeker. “Cassandra—is he dead?”

Cassandra turned him over.

His eyes were dazed. They were open but his pupils were heavily dilated. Awake but not present. One of his eyes was thick and red, it was streaming blood. She leaned down to him, checking for a pulse. “He still has a pulse…he’s….he’s been badly burned.”

Leliana appeared on the landing. “Hold a moment, Solas. Let me look at the walls first. Don't move the ash.” 

Cassandra tore off Alexander’s cloak. It wasn’t hard, most of it had been burnt to a crisp. His skin was a ruin of blisters and blood. Most of his hair had been seared off. She was losing focus. All the blood. All of _his_ blood. His blood was everywhere. The smell of copper and flesh. She took in shallow breaths, eyes unfocused. 

“Who was it!” She demanded, turning her face out towards Leliana.

Cullen took a slight step back from her expression. “Cassandra—come out here and let Solas tend to him.”

“If you believe, Commander, that I would leave—I will—“

“Cassandra!” Cullen said sharply. “Get up. Now.”

Her eyes flared with rage and she leapt up, drawing her sword. 

“Cassandra!” Leliana appeared in the doorway. “Calm down."

Leliana's voice cut through the blood-smell in her head. Leliana was ice to her fire, wasn't that how they'd always been. It reminded Cassandra to breath. The warrior looked down and sheathed her sword.

"Solas, go see if you can do anything. Cole, Cassandra come out here and look at these scorch marks.” The spymaster pointed to one of the guards. “Go get Master Pavus and Lady Vivienne—then the others.”

Cassandra stalked passed Cullen, to the center of Alexander’s demolished bedroom. It allowed Solas to go into the wet room. Cullen shoved the stone bath against the wall—it had been flipped. 

“Looks like he tried to use this for cover,” Cullen said softly, looking at the wide crack and blast of fire that had turned the stone to crumbling ash. 

Solas started to direct his healing magic and then gently pulled up on the Inquisitor’s shirt. “Commander—help me get this off of him. If it heals into the skin—we’ll have to rip it out again.”

“Best do it once and clean,” Cullen agreed, hurrying to kneel beside the young man and firmly—though slowly—peeling back the cotton shirt that was half-cooked into his skin. It came free with a sticky, gurgling noise. His entire body jerked at the pain, eyes widening a little. He groaned softly.

Solas frowned deeply and renewed his focus, pouring magic into the young man.

“Where is he!” came Dorian’s voice, following Cole’s pointing and burst into the wet room. “Fuck,” he breathed. “What happened!” He hurried over to help Solas.

Cullen shook his head. “We don’t know.” He looked out into the bedroom. “Leliana?”

“It was deliberate,” the spymaster said, pointing at the wall. “The scorchmarks are too well-defined for it to be a random explosion. The largest ones are in a row. Under the bed, by the wadrobe and inside the wet room. I would guess the one in the wet room was detonated first. When he wasn’t dead, the other two were set off.” 

Iron Bull appeared at the top of the stairs and went to some of the scorch marks to examine the remains of the powder used.

“Is it gaatlok?” Cassandra demanded.

“No—too coarse for gaatlok,” Iron Bull confirmed.

Vivienne studied the marks. “The one who set these could not have been in the room with him. Perhaps a magical trigger.”

“Commander,” Solas called over. “I believe you might be familiar with this?” Solas held up a small crystal vial. 

Cullen did a double-take and stalked forward, grabbing it and holding it to the light. “It’s a phylactery.” He looked down at Alex. “It’s _his_ phylactery.” He whirled around. “Cassandra—did he have his phylactery when you found him at the Temple?”

“No. He said he didn't have it.”

“Who could have—“ Cullen stopped and opened his palm again. “Samson? Of course. Samson. He's a Templar. He could have found out easily. Trevelyan’s phylactery was never accounted for. He _is_ , or was—a Circle Mage.”

“So Corypheus would know that—and sent Samson to find it and someone did? So then it was just a matter of following it right to us,” Cassandra put her forehead in her palm. "How could we have not thought to track down his phylactery?"

“They slipped in. A shadow, a shaking, a shimmer. A cloak of darkness, a touch like dust, carrying dwarven flame and living fire. The blight, alive, connects. Inside.” Cole touched the vial, tilting it so Cullen could see.

Cullen blinked hard. “The blood has…red lyrium in it. So its connected to the blight and so Corypheus thought he might…do what? Take control of him somehow?”

“That could have been the intention—if Corypheus could taint phylacteries and then make him ingest his own….but we don’t know what the red lyrium does to mages--besides madness,” Cassandra said, closing her eyes to try and keep calm. 

“They would have only had one shot if that was the case,” Leliana said. “And if the phylactery is still here it means that whoever set the explosives must not be far away. Alexander never had his phylactery—so someone had to have gone right in here to make sure he was the one.”

The Inquisitor suddenly started, eyes jumping into awareness. He cried out softly, flooded with pain. He panted for breath, staring up at Solas and Dorian, eyes flickering wildly.

“Calm, Alexander,” Solas advised.

“We’re helping you. Don’t worry,” Dorian told him. He tore a scrap of cloth off his trousers and laid it over the Inquisitor’s left eye. “Your left eye is severely hurt—try not to move your eyes too much.”

Cassandra barged passed Cullen, going to Alexander’s side. “Alex?”

His eyes flickered, widened at Cassandra. He immediately shifted, trying to sit up. Solas and Dorian held him down. He fought against them weakly, making a choked off sort of noise. 

“Stay calm, Alex. Calm down,” Cassandra told him, reaching down to brush his remaining hair out of his face.

“I believe the Mark might have kept him alive,” Solas said, grabbing Alexander’s hand and flipping it. He forced the human’s fingers to uncurl from around the Anchor. It was still humming, though it was hot with magic. “Perhaps it was able to sense danger to the host.” 

“He opened a door and the man stepped out into the air, falling into the dream,” Cole said, fretfully pulling on his gloves. 

Solas blinked. “He opened a rift?”

“The Anchor is a key. It opens and closes.”

Solas stared at him and then looked down at Alex.

“Commander,” Leliana said crisply. “Tell your men to sweep the castle.”

“If you find him, I want him,” Cassandra growled, standing up to stalk out of the wet room. “Solas thinks he might have been sent through a Rift--but if he is wrong and you find this person—he's mine.” Her fingers were white-knuckled on the hilt of her sword.

Cullen nodded sharply. “We should get everyone out of the tower in the meantime. That the whole thing didn’t collapse is kind of amazing. But I’d rather not take chances. Let’s get him moved.”

“Take him to the Requisitions building,” Leliana said. “It’s empty upstairs.”

Iron Bull carried over the remains of a door, laying it down and helping to gently move the Inquisitor onto it. Cassandra took one end, Bull took the other and then headed out of the tower.

Sera was in the main hall, standing guard by the door with an arrow notched. She walked with the warriors when they emerged. She looked over Alexander but did not say anything, just scowled. Cullen emerged behind them and started roaring orders immediately. Dorian and Solas walked behind them, staves loose and ready in their hands. Outside, curious people parted instantly. Sera opened up requisitions and went upstairs ahead of them. She pulled some spar cots together, laying down clean sheets for them to lay the Inquisitor out on. 

Iron Bull moved Alexander to them and then did a full search of the building to check for anything suspicious or out of place. 

Dorian and Solas resumed with their magic, attempting to force the healing process further as much as they could. 

“I’m not sure we can save his eye,” Dorian said quietly, glancing at Solas.

The elf shook his head. 

“Tell me every pain that cannot be healed,” Cassandra commanded them, voice full of fire. “I will revisit it on Corypheus. With interest.” 

 

 

 

Alexander had no sense of the passage of time. He was awake but not. Whenever he woke too much, Minaeve was there with milk of Embrium to make him sleep again. He passed in and out of the world in a delirious, pain-filled blur. Cassandra was there sometimes. He wasn’t sure how often. Just the scent of dark cherries—all Seekers had that scent. Like all Templars smelled like sandalwood. She was a balm, a touch on his brow, changing bandages and speaking softly to him sometimes. He couldn’t remember what she said, just that her voice was there sometimes, quiet and calm in his ear. 

It would be nearly three weeks before he suddenly realized he was awake. 

Alexander stared at the wall, looking at one of the many drawings that decorated these buildings. The woman with the halla horns, the bear who tried to protect her from—

He jolted, half-sitting up before his ribs stabbed at him. He slowly laid back down. Cassandra was to him in a flash. She looked into his face. “Alexander?”

He stared up at her. “Something….” His mouth felt gummy, too loose. “Something’s wrong…I can’t…see…”

“You lost one of your eyes, Alexander.”

The mage grunted. “What…what happened?” he managed.

“Someone infiltrated the keep. They had your phylactery.”

Alex stared at her, stunned. “Shit...led them right to us…?” Alex murmured. "I...shit, Cassandra. I'm sorry--"

“We should never have let this happen—this is my fault—“

Alex groaned, pushing himself to sit up. “No, no…” 

Cassandra put her arms around him to help him. “I should have been smarter. I should have…you almost died. If I had been there—you asked me to stay with you but I couldn’t. I thought I—“

“No…” Alex repeated again, taking a shuddering breath. “You’d have died. And then everything would have fallen apart…”

“We knew your phylactery was unaccounted for but…we…to get access to the phylacteries of Harrowed mages--”

“Cass…” he shook his head and lifted a shaking hand. He reached for her, touching her wrist. “Just…”

Cassandra immediately moved, getting up onto the cot with him. She took his hand and gently urged him to lean against her, stroking the short hair that was growing in over his scalp. “I will catalog every pain, every insult, every mark,” she growled to him. “And I will exact vengeance a hundred times from Corypheus and his ilk. They will _pay_ for this.”

Alexander managed a crooked smile. “You…ha….you always know how to make a guy feel special.” 

Cassandra felt something well up in her chest. Something she’d been keeping at arm’s length as they waited to see if he would pull through. She managed a choked laugh and then bowed her head, burying her eyes in his hair. She held him tightly (and carefully). If he felt a damp droplet that fell on his shoulder, he said nothing of it. He just squeezed her hand and they leaned into each other.

 

 

 

It would be the following week that Alexander was able to get up and around on his own. He’d been moved to another part of the keep while the tower was rebuilt and the extensive foundation damages repaired. He looked into a mirror.

His hair was growing back—so at least for that. His left eye still had a bandage over it. He lifted the fabric and saw a gooey, charred hole of seared flesh and scarred bone. There had been no saving it. At least his right one was still on. His shoulders and arms had taken the brunt of the burns. The flesh was stretched, a mess of scars that webbed over his frame like layers of torn muslin. They continued down his chest and part-way down his back. The blistering on his legs had finally burst and he used his own magic to speed their healing. They would scar as well. Part of his forehead and his left temple were rippled with scarring, molted flesh surrounded the bone of his eye socket like a crescent moon wreath. 

Leliana pressed him for details of the attack as soon as he seemed coherent enough. So he pulled on his robes carefully. They drug on everything, catching on every hinge of skin. He hadn’t fully looked at himself until today. Strangely, all he could think of was Cassandra. She didn’t deserve this. She deserved someone strong…someone complete…..

Alex looked at the floor and took a deep breath. 

Shit.

He went downstairs. He felt the staring as soon as he exited his quarters, walking by himself to the main hall but veering off to the left, going downstairs where a new war room had been set up. Leliana was waiting for him down there. She looked over him when he entered. Her eyes turned a little sadder but she didn’t comment on it. 

“Alexander,” she said, pushing a cup towards him. “Tea, if you like. And I had someone bring sandwiches. You haven’t been eating much. Figure now is a good time while you tell me what you can about that night.”

It took him a few false starts, trying to organize his thoughts. His memories of that night were faint and muddled. He’d been reading at his desk, working on some notes—when the wet room exploded. The bookshelves had fallen over him and he struggled to get free. He managed to scramble up, staggering across the room to the stairs, tripping over the rug. He couldn’t think. Everything was running together in panic. He blasted out a pulse of magic, which was the only thing that saved him when the second went off in front of the wardrobe. Fire slammed into him, the backdraft throwing him to the ground. Alexander could remember holding out a hand, pulsing with power and it threw him back into the wet room. He pulled the tub over on top of him and the third blast went off. He felt the searing heat against the tub and that was it. His next lucid memory was waking in Requisitions. Dorian had been there, leaning over him to direct his magic. 

“Solas has been attempting to search the Fade, to see if there were any spirits around that might reflect what they saw—but until then, I asked Cole to come today. Is that all right?”

Alex nodded. He was already tired but this needed to be done and he needed to be back on his feet as soon as possible. Cole stepped out of the air next to him. “Hey, buddy,” Alex said softly. 

“Your voice is more ragged now, lower, choked,” Cole told him, sitting down in the chair beside him.

Alex nodded.

“You shouldn’t be afraid because of Cassandra. You—“

“Cole,” Alex cut him off. He stared at the floor, shaking his head a little. He shuddered. “Shit….” He shook his head again, resting his eyes in his palm.

“She does not hate you. You're not incomplete.”

“Cole…” Alex repeated, something in his voice going fainter, more strangled. “Stop. Stop, Cole.”

Cole glanced at Leliana, who was watching the Inquisitor like a hawk, cataloging every expression on his face. “What happened the night of the blast, Cole? Can you see anything that the Inquisitor might not remember?”

“The fires were magic,” Cole said. “Burned too hot, too bright. Too intense. The glass melted. Bookcase—a shield from the blast but not enough. Not enough. Everything burning. Cassandra? Where’s Cassandra? Where is—Charlotte? Burned. Burned. Bodies turned to ash and flying apart like leaves in the wind. I know these. I know these. But I didn’t see them. Fire mines? But they must be triggered. I didn’t. What did. Why. What is happening? Everything burns. It hurts—it—it hurts. I can see her above me—no! _No!_ What if there’s another—get out! Get out of here! No—you all have to go! They just want me—“

Leliana watched Alexander’s eye hollow out, going to a dark place inside of his head.

“You’ll burn like Robb when they threw him over the mezzanine. You’ll burn like the tower. You’ll burn and burn and everyone will _burn_. I’m afraid of fire—“ And then Cole stopped. He looked at Leliana, then back at Alexander. “A dark shadow in the smoke, a whispering glint of red stone, red armor, the burning blister of red lyrium. Greasy, dark hair, chipped teeth and a terrible smile like a cage for the lost. _Yes, Inquisitor._ ” Cole sunk into the emotions of the speaker. “Yes, the master will have it. All of it. What does she look like, your sister? What about your brother? His hand reaches far, Inquisitor. There are many ways to skin a nug—“ Cole shuddered. “And then you were reaching up, take away his terrible smile. Too many teeth in a too human mouth. He can’t threaten Charlotte—she’s dead. But James, James was—“

And then Cole stopped. He looked at Leliana. “That was all. He tried to use magic on him but it didn’t work—he was a Templar and he stopped him. And then he was gone. And Alexander couldn’t think or feel anymore.”

“We will send word to Ostwick immediately to warn your brother,” Leliana said. “You have two other brothers, Alexander. Do you know where they are?”

Alex shook his head. “I was the youngest…Ethan, James, Charlotte, Ian and then me. Ethan joined the Chantry service. I don’t know where he is. I heard Ian went to study in Orlais somewhere. I haven’t seen any of them in a long time. The Circle didn’t like us to keep family ties. They wrote me letters at first…but eventually….it stopped.”

“Every family tries to prepare in case one of their children is a mage. They know they’ll be torn away. They got through four and thought they were safe. And then you happened,” Cole said quietly. “No one was ready when you heard the song.”

“I guess I wasn’t either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've been in and out a lot. My brother lost four of his friends in the Orlando shooting. Then my sister attempted suicide on the 22nd of June and then five days ago, I got fired from my job.
> 
> It's been a chaotic few weeks. Please bear with me. Writing helps me work out feelings sometimes and it's a distraction from all the...shit that's going on. Everything seems to be hitting the fan all at once.


	6. Brothers-in-Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mad. Yes. I said terrible things.” Cullen lit his pipe and waved out his match. “Then I was sent to Kirkwall, still angry. Knight-Commander went mad. I should have died. Instead, I met Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.” Cullen half-smiled sadly. “And now I’m here and I’ve met the Inquisitor. You’ll be known as a hero of somewhere or other. Is it strange for one man to have found himself meeting three of the most influential people in the last ten years? And _not_ be dead yet?”  
>  \------------

“Nubs? Hey, you awake?”

Alexander opened his eye. 

Sera was looking down at him. “Hey Nubby-Ears.”

“Hey, elf-face,” he said quietly.

Something sad flickered through Sera’s expression when he said it. His voice sounded so tired. “Hey, look—brought up a visitor. She wanted to see you.”

Alex shuddered and pushed himself to sit up in bed. “Revan,” he said softly.

The elven smith was fidgeting, looking uncertain. “I’m sorry to bother you, my lord. Just—we saw the explosion from the camp at the lake. And we heard about your eye. So—we made this for you.” She held out a slim little packet.

Alex took it clumsily and slowly peeled the paper away. It was an eyepatch, made of silverite and streaked with lyrium. Alex ran his thumb over the scrollwork. “Did you do all these etchings?”

Revan nodded. “Yes, my lord. Though I did not enchant it. I had help from your arcanist, Dagna.”

“Here, help me up,” he said quietly, reaching up to pull off the bandages over his left eyesocket.

Revan stood up and approached. Sera was watching her closely but otherwise, did not interfere. The smith took the slender eye patch and put it over his eye socket, tying it in place with leather throngs around the back of his head. 

“How do I look?” He asked Sera with a faint smile.

“Oh, so handsome. So handsome. I can’t even take it, Nubby-ears. If I wasn’t into girls, I’d do you right now.”

“Right here, Sera. Right here,” he said, reaching up and patting his chest over his heart. He looked at the smith. “Thank you, Revan. How’s Grant?”

“Grumpy,” she answered, smiling a little. “He pitched quite a fit about me coming up here to deliver it myself.”

“He’s a real pisser, that one.”

Alex looked at Sera curiously.

“Me and Solas went down to bring her up here.”

Alex half-smiled at Revan. “Solas did, huh?”

Revan looked away, twisting her fingers together. “He was—it was only—he’d heard that I wanted to thank him for—the time with the glaives. So he. Came down as well.”

Alex chuckled. “I bet Grant _loved_ that.”

Revan smiled a little. “I might be out of a job,” she said. But she smiled like she didn’t really regret it. 

“If you are, you can work up here with Dagna.”

Revan blinked, staring at him. “I—my lord—I’m not—“

“Too late. Already said it. Set in stone,” Alex said gently. “Tell Grant you quit. You can work for me.” He glanced at Sera. “Make sure someone goes with her when she gets her things. Grant is a little…excitable.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Sera said. “I thought he was going to blow his pissing top when we arrived. Especially at Solas.”

“You know, for as peaceful and serene as that guy presents himself, he’s just as fucking randy as you when he gets angry about something.”

“Did you just say Solas and me are _alike_?” Sera stared at him. “I thought we were friends, Nubs.”

“That’s why you two don’t get along. You’re too much alike. He escalates quickly. Just like you.”

“He must have really been up for a show then. Because when we initially tried to leave with Revan, that pisser Grant tried to stop her. And Solas grabbed him by the arm and said he’d turn him inside out if he struck her again.” Sera nodded at Revan, smirking.

“It was just…I’m….” Revan looked down at her hands. “He was just…I think everyone was just upset because of what happened to you, my lord.”

Alexander laughed and immediately had to hold his ribs. He winked at Sera. “Tell Solas I said he has to show her around.”

“My lord Inquisitor—it’s not….” Revan’s fingers twisted in anxiety, looking uncertain.

“Don’t worry—Solas is kind of an idiot sometimes. If we don’t make him meet new people, he’ll never make any new friends. And he really needs friends.” 

Sera snorted. “What—you mean besides his books? And his lack of shoes?”

Alex smiled at her. “C’mon now, you gotta help your brother.”

“He’s not _my_ brother just because we’re both elves.”

“Sera—I imagine the younger him was a lot like you. That’s why I say that. If you can stand it—maybe try talking to him some time.”

Sera scoffed. “Right, whatever. I’m going to chalk this up to you being delirious. C’mon Revvy, let’s find you a closet to hide in.”

Alex waited until the women were gone and then pushed the blankets off himself. He moved slowly. Too slowly, cursing himself as he grit his teeth, moving his legs over the bed. He got up, bracing himself on the bedpost and forced himself to get dressed. He was tired of lying in bed. 

He had to push—he couldn’t just lie in bed and hope for the best. He had to get up and on his feet again. If they’d used his phylactery—what would stop Corypheus from somehow getting ahold of Vivienne’s too? What if he already had it?

Once dressed, he put on a wide-brimmed cap. He pulled it low above his eyes and tugged a cloak over his shoulders. He headed outside. It was snowing gently. He had to stop at the stairs to get his bearings—still not used to no longer having depth perception. He walked the battlements, curling tight inside his cloak and staring out over the frozen water. He let one hand trail along the stone so he could be sure he was walking where he thought he was. Everything was just a little bit off. Off centered, off kilter. He hadn’t thought it would bother him so much but it was vaguely nauseating. And he’d tripped about eight hundred times already when he misjudged where shit actually was versus what his eye perceived. 

And what if Cassandra….

He bowed his head. If she _had_ been upstairs with him…she’d be dead. Could he really reconcile that and just go on like that was okay? Because the thought of her getting blown up directly because of her relationship with him made his heart pound and his fingers curl into fists. He braced his hands on the battlement stone, leaning over the rock. 

“Inquisitor?” 

Alexander took a deep breath, trying to force himself to calm down. He glanced over—had to look over extra because, oh yeah, no eye. It was hard to undo twenty-seven years of habit.

Cullen was watching him carefully. “Alexander….are you all right?”

The mage looked away, out at the lake and took another stiff breath. He swallowed hard. And then it tumbled out of him, “I was so stupid.”

Cullen waved to the guard on the wall. "Ritenor, go take a break."

Her head turned slowly because, of course, she was close enough that she could hear the break in the Inquisitor's voice but was desperately pretending that she was deaf. "Yes, sir," she answered, placing her fist on her chest and nodding to the Inquisitor and the Commander before hurrying away. 

Cullen walked to Alexander's side. “What do you mean?”

Alex took a ragged breath, forcing himself to laugh. “I was so stupid. How could I have thought…” he shook his head, smiling still but his eyes were strained. “I was….” He shook his head again.

“About what, Alex?” Cullen asked quietly, standing beside him. The warrior simply kept looking out at the lake, like Alex was doing. 

“If she…if Cass—if she’d been with me…she’d be dead. Because of me.” He glanced sidelong at Cullen.

The man’s face darkened but he had to nod slowly. “Yes….that’s…very possible.”

“I know how intense she is. I knew that. But I did it anyway because I didn’t…. _think_ ,” he said, gritting his teeth. “I don’t fucking _think_. The Mark is probably all that saved me. She’d be dead. I guess….maybe none of this really felt real until now. Things have….worked out. Amazingly. Impossibly. I survived the Temple. I walked in the fucking Fade. I survived Haven. And then, amazing coincidence, Solas just happens to know where a giant, empty keep is. And I…just…went with it. I didn’t think about what I could do. I didn’t think about what precautions I could have taken. I didn’t bring up my phylactery again—figured it was useless, a moot point. After all, I had no idea where it was. They send them away almost immediately after our Harrowings. I didn’t think to bring it up. How it was a loose end. What if he has Vivienne’s too? I should have—I fucking _know_ what Templars are and what they do. After Haven, when you told me about Samson. Why didn’t I think to say anything? I…I don’t think. I just do things. And I usually blow everything off because I don’t really care what happens to me most of the time. But…this wouldn’t have just affected me. People died. You all risked your lives to go into the tower to find me. You all are risking so much. Because of me. And I didn’t even have the fucking decency to….think about how I could minimize the risk to everyone else. The warriors sneer at me because I’ve been trapped in a Circle my whole life. And because…yeah…I don’t know shit sometimes. I haven’t seen what you all have seen. Nothing at the Ostwick Circle could compare to anything you all have been through.”

“You should not be so hard on yourself. We didn’t think of it either. You wanted something good in your life.”

“Cassandra is more important than that. And not just to me—to everyone. She was the Right Hand of the Divine. She and Leliana did all this. I didn’t do shit except survive an explosion. If not for Cassandra, I’d be dead. A few times over. But it…never sunk in. Until now. How selfish and stupid I was. How could I have gotten involved with her….knowing that there were going to be so many targets at my back and Corypheus and Samson consider collateral damage to be a bonus. And I…acted like a kid. Brand new to the world, giddy because I was outside. Doing things. Meeting people. I was so… _happy_ not to be trapped anymore that I just….” He gestured out over the stone, shaking his head to himself. “I’m not sure how to reconcile that, Cullen.”

“You can’t,” Cullen said, softly. His eyes were far away at another Circle, on another mage. “It’s part of learning. When your life changes, you change too. Sometimes it doesn’t happen until afterwards.”

Alexander took a shaking breath, swallowing hard. “….I was a coward, Cullen. At the Circle. When Ostwick fell…I….and then the Templars came. I watched them kill my friends and…I couldn’t move. I knew what was happening…it…it was a blood bath. And I…felt helpless.”

Cullen looked sidelong at the younger man. He could imagine him, a few years younger, no scars to speak of, no combat training, afraid….

Alexander stared down at the stone. Cullen could see the depth of shame in his face. He looked up at the lake and then shook his head to himself. “You…I’m sorry. You were in Kirkwall—it…doesn’t…Kirkwall was—“

“No,” Cullen said quietly. He clapped him on the back. “Come on.” He urged the Inquisitor to walk with him into his office. He pulled up an extra chair to his desk and gestured for him to sit. He got out two glasses and a bottle of brandy. Cullen poured for both of them and then pulled his pipes and tobacco from his desk drawer. He packed both and slid one over to Alexander. The boy stared at it for a long moment and then took it. 

“I was in Kirkwall, yes,” Cullen said. “And before that, the Fereldan Circle—that was butchered by abominations. I was a very different man then. I was….angry. I blamed mages. For anything. And then I _met_ the Hero of Fereldan. Her name was Bryndis, a mage from a Dalish clan.”

“She was one who ended the Blight.”

“Yes. Seems like no one should have ever remembered me. I was one of the last Templars in the tower.”

“…..they say you were driven….well…”

“Mad. Yes. I said terrible things.” Cullen lit his pipe and waved out his match. “Then I was sent to Kirkwall, still angry. Knight-Commander went mad. I should have died. Instead, I met Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.” Cullen half-smiled sadly. “And now I’m here and I’ve met the Inquisitor. You’ll be known as a hero of somewhere or other. Is it strange for one man to have found himself meeting three of the most influential people in the last ten years? And _not_ be dead yet?”

Alexander’s eyebrows lifted, managing a crooked smile. “Holy shit. You better be careful.”

Cullen chuckled. “It makes it seem like my role will always be as support. And I’m fine with that. I wanted to serve and I have. But we’re all young once, Alexander. I can never apologize to Bryndis for the things I said to her. She’ll never know. She saved us from the Fifth Blight and I called her a knife-eared apostate.”

Alexander stared at him.

Cullen looked down at his pipe and then back at Alex. “I can never take that back. Some things, you never reconcile, Alex. Yes, the way you acted endangered others sometimes but that’s why you have advisers. But we cannot account for every situation. No one thought to get your phylactery. There’s nothing we can do about it now.” Cullen shrugged. “The only thing we can do—is hunt for Vivienne’s and advise all other mages to do the same for their own.” Cullen slowly turned his glass of brandy. “We cannot forget our mistakes—else we just repeat them. And we can’t change the past. But you can decide to change yourself. That’s always an option.”

Alex peered at him for a long moment. “Is that why you left the Templars?”

Cullen glanced up at him and nodded. “Yes. I left the Templars for that reason. Yes, I wanted to stop the war—but no one can subsist solely on ideals. It became a chance to start over.”

“…..isn’t that difficult though—I mean, the lyrium messes with Templars, doesn’t it?”

Cullen seemed to think about that for a moment and then he looked at Alexander quietly. “I no longer take lyrium. I stopped.”

Alex started. “Holy shit, what!”

“I am determined to break that leash from that life.”

 _Wow. Damn._

Alexander looked down at his hands. His curled his fingers into his palms. “Thank you, Cullen. I think I understand.” The Inquisitor stood up. His eye seemed harder suddenly. He pressed hard against the Anchor. “Cullen,” he said softly. He took a deep breath. “When I grow up, I wanna be just like you.”

Cullen burst out laughing.

Alex flashed him a grin. “I owe you one, Shining Blond Commander of the Faithful and Insane.”

“Aren’t those the same?” Cullen leaned back in his chair, chuckling. 

“Really though. Thank you,” Alex said, a little more seriously. “I’m gonna do things differently now. I want to be involved. I wanna make sure this never happens again.” He nodded to Cullen and headed out the door.

 

 

Alexander strode into the rotunda. “Solas.”

The elf looked up from his chair. “Inquisitor….” His blue eyes drifted over the young man and his ragged appearance. He felt a twinge of pity for him that he swiftly quieted. 

“Solas—you don’t use lyrium, right?”

“No. I do not.”

“How? I mean, besides our natural magic or whatever.”

“Mages typically pull from the Fade. It takes strength to reach through the Veil to manipulate the energy existing in the Fade and then to mold it to our will. Lyrium makes that easier by acting as an amplifier. But I draw from the essence of the Fade.”

“The essence?”

“Simplified, drastically—the Veil. It took me many years to learn how to draw directly from it and thus, have all the strength I needed without the crutch of lyrium.”

“Can you teach me how to do that?”

Solas’ eyebrows lifted. “It took many years to learn—“

“All right. Well. We better get started then, yeah? And we talked about me learning how to control my dreams. You still up for that?”

Solas hesitated, peering at him closely. “…are you all right?”

“Yes,” the Inquisitor said, voice ending on an agitated bite.

Solas’ eyes flickered. “All right,” he said, quietly. “We’ll begin tonight.

“Thank you. I’ll bring coffee.” 

 

 

Solas had never seen Alexander so focused. The young man came to him bearing a kettle wrapped in a towel, full of hot coffee. He was also still wearing that hat and his cloak. Solas tried to gently touch his mind but found it so razor sharp that it was feeling everything at once. Or too much, perhaps. The elf pulled back, watching him. 

The other mage hesitated and then forced himself to remove the cloak and wide-brimmed hat. He tossed them aside and looked at Solas. “Let’s hit it.”

Solas nodded and instructed him to look at some spells and demonstrate them, so he might gauge the potential in his magic. The Inquisitor was an average mage. He neither excelled nor failed. He had worked hard at the Circle, but his talents weren’t focused. So, he remained in the awkward upper middle tier of ‘Could cause trouble with the right motivation’, ‘But Probably Won’t’ and ‘No One Knows Your Name’ but there _was_ untapped potential there. 

Of course, that was before the Anchor.

Solas could see right into the Fade, watching the reflections of the boy as he worked through the exhaustive list Solas had put together for him. Watched his magic turn his insides blue and gold and green with all the beauty of primordial energy flexing like auroras across the sky. From a tiny boy, the looming shadow of the Circle that imprisoned him, the chains that wrapped up the sky in darkness, pulling away the colors one at a time. The auroras grew, yes. But the colors disappeared. The colors were what mattered. You had nothing without the colors.

And then the anchor—like a blast of red and gold light, flooding over the sky, spraying across the expanse like blood on the walls. It made his magic…..clumsy. Big, too big for him—for any mortal—consuming his energy, feeding on the magic, tearing it out of his spirit. 

He saw the reflections of himself, cool and blue. A band of light across the Anchor that slowly held off the progress, like a dam that holds back an ocean. Even he did not have the magic to hold it back forever. It consumed the boy until he closed the Breach. And then the Anchor flickered. The red faded and only the gold remained. Solas’ binding on the Mark was destroyed in a flash and he watched the flood of magic turn green and ethereal.

Demons were always green, spirits were always red. The Mark was green, when Corypheus invoked the orb when he attempted to retrieve the Anchor, the orb turned red. Of course, Solas wasn’t sure how much Alex would know of things like that. He’d been raised to fear both. 

And then, suddenly, Solas became aware of something.

Alexander was looking at him in the Real. Looking hard and his eye flickering like he’d just seen something else. 

And then they were in the Fade together.

Solas gaped at him, stunned into silence.

Alexander looked around. He had two eyes in the Fade. The left one was glowing. He didn’t seem to notice, peering around and looking at the images, absorbing, flooding his senses, seeing his magic, breathe, die, breathe the flood and then whirling around and jerked back from the elf. “Solas…?”

Solas had to shake himself. “I….incredible. That you could—that we are _meeting_ here. In dreams. While we’re awake.” 

“Why are you glowing?” Alexander asked, taking another step back from him.

Solas blinked. “What?” 

“You look….different. In the Fade.”

Solas stared at him. _Can he see my other forms?_ He looked down at his hands. No glowing. He looked back at Alexander. “Perhaps it is your eye, Inquisitor. In the Fade, everything simultaneously does and does not exist. Therefore, in the Fade, you have your other eye again.”

“I don’t….see what I used to though….”

Solas walked around him to his blind side. “What do you see?”

“I see….sounds. And…they’re….” Alex lifted his hands helplessly. “They’re….like whispers…”

“What one might call: _instincts_ , Inquisitor?”

Alexander found him with his right eye. “So….what I see from my left eye is….a reflection of what I might have seen in the Real—because it’s….” He hesitated.

Solas gestured outward for him to go on.

“It’s a….spirit….eye? I mean…the eye is made of….spirit energy?” He said uncertainly.

“That seems to be the case,” Solas agreed, smiling his approval. “Impressive. Perhaps if you become adept enough with the Mark’s power, you might even be able to summon it outside the Fade.”

“Can that be done?” Alex asked.

The elf smiled. “Spirit Enchanters can do it with weapons. So perhaps you’ll find out.”

They lost track of time in the Fade, Solas seemed to derail from his intended studies when suddenly gaining the opportunity to walk about with someone in the Fade. The natural teacher came out in Solas, advising the younger mage how to Dream while still Awake—an exemplary feat of magic and to cross with such ease! Remarkable. And also dangerous. Perhaps the boy was just seeing a glow from his frequent travels to the Fade—but if he was ever in the Fade with Cole….

Solas recreated Haven around them. 

“Amazing,” Alex said. “Wow. And it’s just…will. Will makes everything pliable.”

“Try it,” Solas told him, gesturing out.

Alexander held his staff to himself, closing his eyes. He could recreate the image in his head. A lake in the Free Marches, a port and docks, small fishing boats and crab cages. It was like coloring in a white piece of paper. The modest Trevelyan manor. There were lanterns everywhere and the sky darkened into dusk. Someone was playing a sitar—probably Ian, he was good with music. 

He opened his eyes and—he lost all the air in his chest in a rush. It was all around him. He was in it. He was _here_. 

Solas looked around curiously. “This place is important to you. Something happened here?”

Alex looked around, trying to get his bearings. “I….this….I think this is when my magic manifested….it was night, like this. Ha, I set a tree on fire. It was the most amazing feeling—I’ve never been able to capture it again. That first moment when you feel magic. And it tells you everything it can do, all the colors and shapes it can make. There’s all this possibility suddenly.” He voice faded and his eye lowered. “I suppose that’s stopped though—because then they acted like I was dead. So. Yeah, haha. Mixed feelings.”

Solas did a double-take around Alex, making the other mage turn. “What?”

The elf stayed still. “There’s someone over there. Did you create any memories of people here?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never done something like this before so I assumed they would appear….but they didn’t. Like, the people are too much to include at a glance. It’s harder to recreate them?”

“Correct,” Solas told him. 

They heard humming and then soft singing. Sera emerged from the manor carrying a torch. She bounded over to a cluster of trees and lit a fire. The girl hollered something and then spun in a circle, still whirling the torch through the night. She started singing again—which made both mages blink and look at each other, astonished. Sera’s voice was amazing. 

“Wow. Didn’t know she could sing,” Alex felt a wave of weariness crest over him. Like listening to the song made him realize he’d been awake for too long. “I—“

“We should go,” Solas agreed. He put a hand on the Inquisitor’s shoulder. “You have to let everything collapse but carefully, sinking back to your body.”

“Do people ever switch bodies by accident?”

“Not that I know of—if you leave your head like that—I think you’ll die. But I don’t know anyone who’s tried it.”

“Creepy…” And like a bundle of feathers, they drifted and Alex pulled them from the Fade. And yet, they weren’t asleep. So there was no waking, they just became more aware. More…in this world, rather than the other. Rather than seeing both at once. Alex slumped back against the wall. 

“Are you all right?” Solas asked.

Alex raised a hand to placate him. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Just….tired.”

“Then go and sleep—we can continue another day.”

Alex got to his feet.

“And Alexander, talk to Cassandra before we try this again. It is best for the matter to be settled before attempting to explore the Fade with your spirit so disrupted.”

Alex glanced back at him and nodded, before he gathered his cloak and hat and headed downstairs.


	7. Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra/Inquisitor  
> \----
> 
> “You should write a book about Merrill,” Hawke was saying. She leaned back, sprawling in her chair in the tavern with Varric. “It’ll just be her being lost for about four hundred pages. Like a choose-your-own adventure story, but every five pages, it tells you to go back to page one.”
> 
> Varric laughed. “It’ll just be called _Pushing Daisy, Somewhere_.”

Cassandra leaned against the makeshift war room table, crossing her arms. “You have been very distant.”

Alexander looked at the stern set of her jaw. “Cassandra…I….I was thinking—“

“I believe I know what you are going to say,” she cut him off. “You are worried that I will die. You think we should end it.”

Alexander cringed a little and then looked at her. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. I was….I was really stupid, Cassandra. You were the Right Hand of the Divine. Chantry is throwing your name around as a possible candidate for Divine. You already take so many risks.”

“Which I choose to do,” she said tersely. 

“I know, Cass—I…I know. It’s your choice. You can take care of yourself. I know you can. But…I don’t know if…I can reconcile that. All of us are targets. Why I didn’t think of that sooner, I don’t know. Well, I do—I’m an idiot. Sheltered. And stupid.”

“Alexander—“

“I thought they would only target me. I’m the one with the mark. I’m the face of this whole clusterfuck, right? But they got my phylactery. What else do they have?”

“It will not make a difference. I will stay by your side regardless.”

“Cassandra, come on…look at me.” He removed his cap and flopped it down on the table. “I’m all messed up. I’m missing an eye. I…can’t be that one that’s gonna….ha, sweep you off your feet. I…” he shook his head to himself, looking down. 

Cassandra’s boots appeared in his peripheral vision. She grabbed his jaw and jerked it up so she could meet his eyes. “Tell me then. Look into my eyes, Alexander. And say it. Tell me to leave.”

Alexander searched her face. “Cass…I was such a fuckin idiot…if you had been with me—“

“I wasn’t,” she said, tone flat.

“But…I’m….ha. I’m an idiot. I’m younger than you and I’m dumb as fucking rocks, Cassandra. You deserve better.”

“You do not get to choose what I do or do not deserve. I have made my choice. I am willing to accept the possible consequences of that choice. And I will go gladly to the Maker’s side if that is his will.”

“But I’m _not_ willing to…if I lost you like that I would never forgive myself. Will of the Maker is bullshit. I don’t—” He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t wanna lose you like that. Not like that.” He admitted. “You’re too good. You’re too rare, Cassandra. You believe in doing what’s _really_ right. Not what’s convenient or politically advantageous. The world needs people like you. You’re too rare to die for someone like me.”

“If you say something like that again, I am going to slap you,” she warned him.

“Dammit, Cassandra. I want to protect you!” He burst out. “I was too easy-going. I didn’t think. I was stupid. You could have died. And it would be my fault—“

Cassandra cracked him across the face. “Keep going,” she said. “Next time it will be my fist.”

“This is just reality! We have to talk about it! You could fucking _die_ and then there goes all your work for the Inquisition and the Maker and whatever! And I don’t think I could….I’m not sure I could take that.”

Cassandra reached up, curling her fingers into the back of his neck and pulling their foreheads together. “You will learn,” she said softly. And then she kissed him. She felt his fingers dig into her hips, trying to resist but faltering. She had expected this conversation eventually. It did not surprise her that it came after the explosion. He was upset. He was hurting. He was thinking of his friends who had died in the Circle, those who died at the Conclave and now he was sick at the idea of her dying in the same way. A senseless death that was entirely out of his control. She had gone through a similar thing when she was a young Seeker. This is when he needed someone most. Someone stubborn, someone bold and someone determined. Luckily, Cassandra Pentaghast was all those things. She did not give up easily and when her mind was made up—she stuck with it. She broke the kiss and looked into his face. “We must take our happiness where we can, Alexander. And mine is at your side and yours is at mine.”

Alexander sighed. “I think it’s a waste. You can do so much better than me….” He shook himself. “Are you…sure about this?”

“Yes. With my full heart.”

Alex closed his eye and nodded at his boots. “…..all right.” 

“We will take precautions. Otherwise. We stay on our toes. Now. Come with me.” She grabbed his arm and pulled on him to make him follow.

All of their rooms had been switched following the explosion. Vivienne had been moved to a different wing entirely. Cassandra led him back to her own chambers. Moonlight was heavy like a blanket over the grounds and the shadows stretched thin like demons from the rifts. Cassandra opened her door and pulled him inside. She shut it and turned the deadbolt.

“You must learn to trust me,” Cassandra told him, hanging up her cloak. “Remove the cloak and that hat so that I can see you as you are. Your confidence has been shaken. We will get it back.”

He hesitated and then did as she asked, removing the cap and cloak and laying them aside with his staff next to her sword. Cassandra lit several candles, brightening up the room. She looked at him. He seemed so young when he looked at her like that—uncertain and a little bit afraid. So much of him before—it was jokes and pulling her into dark closets when she didn’t expect it. She’d loved it, secretly. His impulsiveness and eagerness for her was more gratifying than she could have imagined. 

The Seeker walked up to him and looked him over. He tried not to flinch away when she gently pushed his hair back, pulling the eyepatch off, so she could examine his left temple, the cheek, the forehead and the empty eye socket. She felt his uncertainty at her scrutiny as she let her thumb trace the edge of the scar tissue, which extended over his left eye.

Then her palms flattened on his shoulders, smoothing down to his chest and unbuttoning his shirt. She felt him tensing up again but he did not step away when she opened the fabric and pushed it off of him. The net of scarring webbed across his frame. He’d lost weight, she saw, from the way his collarbones stuck out. The scarring was ugly, raised, molted. His left side had clearly taken the brunt of the blast. “Does it hurt?”

Alex looked down at his shoulder. “Not so much anymore. It itches when it snows. I can’t be out in the sun much either. It starts to burn very quickly.”

“It is very sensitive and will be for some time. We will commission you new armor to account for this. It will be lined on the inside—plain leather will rub painfully when you sweat otherwise. Dagna will be able to help with this, I think. What we do not want is for the scar tissue to be torn off. Blistering will be very painful. The scarring will be very sensitive for several months.” She glanced up and saw that he was staring at her, following her face with his eye like a young recruit up for inspection.

Her fingers examined his sides and then went to his belt. She felt him jerk a little and then stop himself. She didn’t comment. Cassandra removed his belt and untied his trousers. “Sit,” she told him, pressing gently on his shoulders.

He followed her urging, looking up at her as he sat down on her bed. It was weird to sit naked in front of her while she examined him so closely. But he saw no disgust or pity—she was sharp-eyed, calculating what must be done and putting together a plan to do it. That was Cassandra, wasn’t it? A remarkable leader in every way—just with little tact.

She sat down beside him, smoothing her palm over his thigh. The scarring extended partway down the left thigh and then trailed off. Some other scarring picked up further down his calves—but it wasn’t nearly as bad. When she cupped his knee to pull his thigh towards her, she felt him tense up again. His cock twitched involuntarily and it was rather painful, the way he looked so deeply ashamed with himself. Where once he would have smirked at her and made a silly quip, now he could hardly seem to stand having her look at him. 

The Seeker frowned and slid her hand up his thigh, gently taking hold of him. He looked away, uncertain.

“Alexander,” she said softly, smoothing her thumb over the head.

He gritted his teeth, bowing his head and shaking it. “Cass, I—“

“Alex.” She moved her hand, watching his eyes as she stroked him. His breath shuddered through his teeth. His fingers were curled up tight in her blanket, white-knuckled. “You think you are not worth my gaze now?” 

He cringed a little.

“Even Corypheus will continue to come after you. If Corypheus can continue—then I can too.”

“But I—“

He had to cut himself off when she tightened her palm around him. Her left hand went to his jaw, turning his head to meet his eye. She leaned in and kissed him, capturing his mouth and hearing him breath in sharply. She felt his hand hesitate before touching her shoulder. She left his jaw and netted their fingers together, pulling him into her like an anchor. She pushed his hand to her back, pressing it into her spine until he took hold on his own. 

His other hand finally lifted, stroking his thumb along her cheekbone. And then he kissed her hard, pulling her into him. She…she still wanted him. Alexander shuddered at the thought. That she could. That she _would_. His cock stiffened in her palm, rising red and hot in her hand. His fingers curled into her hair and he felt her gently touch his shoulder then, urging him to lie back. His hands drifted on her spine, seeming uncertain of what to do with them until she knelt over him, still stroking, firm and slow. 

“I have already told you. I am your friend, your protector and your lover. And I will always be those three things.” Cassandra saw something flicker through his eye and then he breathed in sharply, hands going to the catches of her armor and pulling them apart. She let him, stroking him continuously until he pulled her shirt off and she was forced to let go. His hands went to her breasts. His left hand was mangled and chewed up but his fingers remained. The texture was different, feeling that scarred flesh touch the sensitive peaks of her nipples, but they hardened just as quickly.

She helped to get her boots and trousers off and then she was urging him to lie back again. The limber warrior climbed on top of him, let her slickness prime his cock. It was stiff and seeping now and his hands went to her hips, grinding them against each other. They both groaned softly. 

She put her palms on his hands, guiding them from her hips, sliding up her body to her breasts. His eye was fixed on her as she rolled her hips against him when his hands massaged her breasts. Then she lifted herself, reaching down to touch him again, lining him up and sinking down onto him.

He grunted, teeth gritting.

“It still works, I think,” Cassandra told him.

That made him almost choke on an unexpected laugh. She smiled and he smiled back. A ghost of his grin, but it was a smile. He was reassured. A little reassurance went a long way. His hands slid back down to her hips, grabbing into them so he could rock up into her, harder, fuller. Cassandra let herself sink down to his chest, bracing her hands above his shoulders as she moved with him. As their rhythm synced, calling to each other until their eyes were hazy and hot. 

She moaned softly, bowing her head as she felt his grip tighten. His cock was swelling inside of her, hilting deep enough to make her shudder all the way to her toes. He groaned as she tightened around him, grabbing at her thighs and then sliding inbetween them. He found the slick button of nerves and massaged it slowly, in rhythm with the roll of her hips. Not too much—too much stimulation and she’d go numb. He couldn’t have that. Couldn’t…

She came around him—an electrifying feeling as she clenched tight and hot and wet around him. He followed her, pulsing inside of her and feeling her fingers comb through his ragged auburn hair, cupping the back of his head.

“To the end,” she breathed softly.

“I love you.” It tumbled out of him, staring at her.

She smiled in that rare, soft way that seemed to be reserved for him. “And I, you.”

 

 

 

 

“Meet Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.”

Hawke had dark hair and shining brown eyes. She beamed at them. “That’s me. For what it’s worth.”

Alexander stared at her. “You’re Madelaine Hawke?”

“Yes,” she said and then looked at Varric. “Right?”

“Yes,” Varric agreed, chuckling. “Madelaine Hawke, known colloquially as Waffles.”

“It’s weird getting everyone’s stories together. Like you, Sister Nightingale.” She nodded to the spymaster. “I remember you—what are they calling you here?”

“Leliana,” Varric said. 

“What—did Shadowess of the Abyss lose its novelty?”

Leliana laughed. “I do wish now I could go back and slap you in the face sometimes.”

“I know, right?” The women grinned at each other. 

The door opened again, letting Cassandra and the commander in.

“And, this is the lady who kidnapped me.”

Cassandra bristled.

Hawke lifted her eyebrows and crossed her arms. “It’s not like it would be totally undeserved, Varric. I’m sure _someone_ was owed you getting roughed up.”

“Hey! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“I told you not to call me Waffles unless you planned on making me waffles.” She looked at Alexander. “Word to the wise, Inquisitor—make waffles for your people.”

Alexander laughed. “I’ll try to remember that. Cass, do you like waffles?”

“What is a _waffle_?” Cassandra asked, crossing her arms. 

“I’m tellin ya,” Hawke said, tapping the side of her nose. “Make her waffles. She’ll be yours forever.”

“I thought the way to a _man’s_ heart was through his stomach?” Alex chuckled.

“Think outside the box. You find it works for almost everyone.”

“Hawke…?”

Alexander glanced at Cullen, who was staring at the Champion of Kirkwall. He looked stunned.

Hawke did a double-take and blinked, eyes going wide. “…….Cullen?” she asked, voice going quiet and faint. And then she broke into a smile, rushing over to him with her hand outstretched. “Knight-Captain Cullen? Wow! You’re still alive! Haha! Good for you!”

She left him go after a furious handshake.

Alexander’s eyebrows lifted, watching Cullen glance away. “You two know each other?”

Hawke fought back a smile. “Well….we…were acquainted. If only because of all the trouble I used to get into.”

“She got into quite a bit,” Cullen allowed, smiling gently and shaking his head.

“Heard anymore rumors about me that you hope aren’t true?”

Cullen chuckled. “Not lately.”

She shifted on her feet and exchanged a look with Varric. “It’s so….you’re…..you’re different now.”

“Am I?” Cullen asked quietly.

“You don’t smell like sandalwood anymore—at least—not how Templars normally do. And you seem….” She seemed to flounder for a word and then, “Did someone get you laid or what?”

Cullen choked. Leliana covered her smile with her hand. Iron Bull, Sera and Varric burst out laughing.

“Take that as a no?”

“Okay, let’s talk about Corypheus!” Varric said loudly.

“Isabela would have thought it was funny!”

 

 

 

“You should write a book about Merrill,” Hawke was saying. She leaned back, sprawling in her chair in the tavern with Varric. “It’ll just be her being lost for about four hundred pages. Like a choose-your-own adventure story, but every five pages, it tells you to go back to page one.”

Varric laughed. “It’ll just be called _Pushing Daisy, Somewhere_.”

“So did he do that thing where he gives everyone nicknames?” Sera asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her fist.

“Oh yeah,” Hawke said. “Daisy, Rivaini, Red, Choir-Boy, Blondie, Junior and…..Fenris.” She looked at Varric and shrugged. “…..you just called him ‘elf’ or ‘broody’, right? He didn’t really have strong nickname material. Except for the lyrium-tattoos—but that wasn’t really fair game.”

“That was before my nickname game was strong, Hawke. Broody was too obvious. Now, I’d probably call him Chuckles. But I can’t. Already using it. Maybe Ghost?”

“Wouldn’t that be funny, though? Somewhere out in the world, Fenris will stop and look around and be like: _My tattoos sense that some asshole has the same nickname as me._ ”

“I better find him and kill that guy!” Varric laughed.

“Was he another elfy-elf?” Sera asked.

“An elfy-elf? What’s that?” Hawke glanced at Varric.

“Dalish like Daisy but with the worst of Blondie’s attitude.”

“Oh,” Hawke cringed a little. “Ugh. Yeah—no. Fenris, I think, hated everyone equally. You know? He didn’t really discriminate. He was a slave before I met him. _Extremely_ distrustful of magic. He liked helping people though. In a….Fenris sort of way. He was a good guy, at heart.” She smiled a little. She sighed softly and shook herself. “All right, Varric. Tell me about your new crew here.”

“Oh! You should tell her all the nicknames and make her guess who is who!” Sera suggested.

“Oh yeah!” Hawke agreed enthusiastically. “Let’s see how good your nickname game has gotten, Varric!”

Ten minutes later, Hawke was standing in front of a small board, looking at eight nicknames. She turned around to look at the assembled people.

Alexander was sitting next to Cassandra, smiling a little as the Champion of Kirkwall looked over everyone. 

She pointed to Iron Bull. “You have to be Tiny.”

Iron Bull lifted his mug to her.

“Seeker is a giveaway,” Hawke said, gesturing to Cassandra with a nod. “Ma’am.” She eyed the group. “Unless Varric has switched his method, I’ll guess that you are Kid or Buttercup, Sera.” She glanced at Varric. “Though she is kind of different from Merrill. And Carver—but he was Junior, I guess.”

“Buttercup,” Varric confirmed.

“Let’s see, Lady Iron—I already know that one, who doesn’t. And she’s not in here anyway.” She had to pause at Solas and Dorian, studying the two of them. “You two are the ones I’m not sure about. And you.” She pointed at Blackwall. “Grey Warden, right? You are _not_ Sparkler.” She pointed at Dorian. “And you are _not_ Hero.”

“You’re getting close, Hawke.”

She hesitated, still pointing at Dorian. “You’re Sparkler? Cause you’re all….sparkly. And funny as hell.”

Dorian grinned, giving her a noble’s clap. 

“And…you’re an apostate, huh?” She studied Solas. 

Alex watched her closely, feeling his hackles rise for some reason. 

“Spends most of his time in the Fade,” Varric said.

Hawke startled, looking at Varric. “What?” She looked at Solas. “Seriously?”

“Very much. There is a wealth of knowledge to be had for those who know how to look.”

“Huh. And you’re self-taught?”

“I am. I have never been in a Circle. And I did not grow up among the Dalish.”

“I can tell that, pal. You’re a little too independent for them, I think. And a Circle would have made you Tranquil.”

“How do you know that?” Alexander asked.

Hawke chuckled to Varric. “Can you imagine him in Kirkwall?” She looked at Solas. “They would have killed you. Or made you Tranquil. What’s the difference, right?”

“I would be inclined to agree.”

Hawke studied him a moment and looked at Varric. “He’s Chuckles, isn’t he?” 

“Got it!”

“Boom! So you’re Hero.” She pointed at Blackwall.

“Varric’s descriptions of me are often colorful. They don’t always catch my good side.”

“Ah, don’t take it so hard, Warden. He exaggerates about everyone.” She grinned at Varric. “I can see why you call this one Chuckles. He should meet Fenris. Ha, that same extremely dry sense of humor.” She looked at the sole remaining name and pulled it off. “So who’s Kid?”

“Well, I was kind of thinking he’d show up. He tends to do that,” Varric glanced up to the mezzanine. 

“I’ve been here.”

Hawke whirled around, grabbing into her staff and jumping back a step. She blinked hard at him and then looked at Varric. “He’s…..”

“Not possessed. And not like Blondie. Or Daisy.”

“I’m not possessing anyone,” Cole said.

Hawke let go of her staff, closing the distance between them and studying him. “….not to be rude or anything but….what….are you. Exactly?”

“He’s a spirit,” Solas said.

“Okay, Chuckles, I know I wasn’t in a Circle and I don’t spend all my time in the Fade but last I knew, spirits couldn’t do……this.” She gestured out at him.

“He’s a spirit who has manifested a human form.”

“Holy shit….” Hawke looked at Varric for confirmation. When the dwarf nodded she put her hands on her hips, looking at the boy. “Wow…..is that…a thing?” She turned around again, looking at Solas and Dorian. “You two are the mages, right—clearly with more training than me. I mean…is that….a thing that can happen?”

“I’d never seen anything like it,” Dorian said. “And I pride myself on this sort of thing.”

“In ancient memories in the Fade, there are stories of such things. But I hadn’t seen it until now,” Solas answered.

Hawke turned back around. Cole was still standing there, like a statue, watching her. “What’s your name, kid?”

“My name is Cole. Do you want to know my other-name? Mages always ask.”

She peered at him. “….your…aspect?”

“Compassion.”

“Oh,” she said simply, just looking at him. “Wow. Are you….you’re not bound?”

“No.” 

“He’s a demon,” Blackwall groused from his bench. 

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Demons and spirits aren’t black and white, Warden.”

“He’s dangerous.”

“Yeah, so are Varric’s boots after three weeks in the Deep Roads. But I’m still alive.”

“Your _friend_ Anders was an abomination. He blew up a Chantry in the middle of a crowded city.”

Hawke looked at Varric. “I can see why you call him Hero. Takes himself pretty seriously, huh?”

“No. No. What’s happening? Why? Why is it—the stones—red. Anders _why_. What have you _done_? Why—I feel sick. My hands are so cold. I—why did it come to this? I don’t—Justice becomes Vengeance—“

Hawke whipped around, taking a step back from Cole, staring at him.

Varric got up, holding a hand out to Hawke but looking at Cole. “Kid….”

“He can’t control it—but he’s—he’s….the knife is hot. My hands are slick and cold and I have to. It was a _chantry_ for _fuck’s sake_ , Anders. A _chantry_. No one will _ever_ forgive that. Why couldn’t I stop him? I’m a mage. I should have. His blood is so heavy. Like oil. Syrup. And just like that. He’s gone.”

Hawke stared at Cole, stunned, in the awful stretch of silence that followed. 

“You had to kill him,” Cole said softly. “….there was no other way. He wanted to die. He knew Vengeance had taken him. It still hurt. He was your friend. Before. He wanted.”

Hawke swallowed hard and tried a smile. “That’s a pretty good trick, kid.” She coughed into her shoulder. “Well, guess that’s enough for me. I plan on being drunk tomorrow too, so I better get some sleep.” She waved to Varric and turned around. She whistled to her mabari and the big beast lumbered up to follow her out of the tavern.

“So, just gonna throw this out there,” Varric said dryly, “characters in stories—still people.”

It was weird to suddenly see the divide in their groups. Varric and Hawke and their ghosts from the past and Varric and the Inquisition. It was weird to think of Varric having a whole other group, just like this one, but that none of them knew anything about. 

“Blondie…did a terrible thing…but he was our friend before that happened. I watched that son of a bitch blow up a chantry: sisters, children, worshippers were inside. Not to mention those who were outside. And Hawke had to kill him. For all our sakes, I hope that doesn’t happen here.” Varric rubbed his hair and headed out of the tavern.

 

 

Hawke stood up on the battlements. Sergeant was pacing restlessly beside her. “All right, all right,” she said and pulled out a ball. “Ready?”

Sergeant bounced up eagerly, doing a false start until she chucked the rubber ball into the dark yard. She could make out the big mabari out in the moonlight, tripping over himself and diving on the ball. 

“Can’t shake the Ferelden in you?”

Hawke glanced over. “Not quite. He’s been with me a long time.” She smiled as he hurried up the stairs to run back to her. He slowed at Cullen’s boots, prowling around him and dropping the ball at Hawke’s feet. She picked it up and held it out to him. “Toss for old time’s sake, Commander?”

Cullen looked at ease, keeping half an eye on the dog. He knew dogs, after all. And Sergeant seemed well-trained, though old. He smiled at the big beast as he took the ball. “There you are. No need to be giving me that evil eye, Sergeant.” He threw it down by the main gate and Sergeant tore off after it. 

“Lost track of you in Kirkwall after….it was over,” Hawke said, crossing her arms and leaning against the stone. 

“Same. I heard you were still alive but with….everything that happened…”

“Yes….” The both of them looked at their boots. “Do you still have dreams about it?”

“Yes. I never thought I'd see anything as awful as that red sky--until the Breach,” Cullen answered softly. “Without the lyrium, it’s worse.”

“I wondered. You’re trying to get off it?”

He nodded.

She studied him for a moment, seeing ghostly shadows behind his eyes. “Well. Just. Be careful, huh? We know way too many dead people. You’re a good person. Be a damn shame for you to die after all this time.”

Cullen glanced at her as Sergeant came bounding up to him, dropping the ball at his feet. He frowned a little and looked back, bending down to get the ball and throw it again.

Hawke sighed at him. “Oh, Cullen. You’re so Ferelden it hurts.”

That made him smile, chuckling softly. “Was it so obvious?”

“Yes,” she said, laughing a little. “Because if you were a real bastard, Sergeant wouldn’t let you touch his ball. He’d rip your hand off. But he didn’t. So that means you’re a good person. Dogs are smart. We Fereldens know that, right?” She gave him a sly, sidelong look.

“I…suppose so,” Cullen allowed, smiling a little. 

“Trust me. I know these things. I’m, like, Champion of…fucking shit up, mostly.”

“You did all right in Kirkwall.”

She chuckled. “That’s very kind, Commander.”

Cullen hesitated and then said, “I….never got to tell you after I heard about Carver. He had shown an interest in joining the Templars. He was a good lad. He harbored a lot of anger but he did care about you, in his own way.”

She chuckled a little as Sergeant bounded up to her, sniffing at her pockets as she pulled out an oat bar and broke a piece off. “Is this your revenge for me saying you’re a good person?” She made Sergeant sit before she gave him the chunk.

Cullen hesitated again. “I…am sorry. I know I didn’t know much about the boy. Mostly, it was you that everyone knew.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t be so cynical. I guess just…after Bethany died, coming to Kirkwall, losing Carver to the Deep Roads and knowing that he blamed me for not saving Bethany…and then my mother--well, shit. That stitched face will haunt me until the day I die.” She chuckled faintly, waving her hands uselessly in the air.

Sergeant avidly followed the chunk of oat bar in her hand with his eyes. 

“It was a mess,” Cullen agreed.

Hawke handed him the oat bar so he could feed a piece to Sergeant . “But I still have this handsome old gentleman!” She smiled and knelt down to pet Sergeant. “He’s good at fetch, he brings me dead animals sometimes. He has a very pretty and well-groomed coat. And he never tells me that my singing is bad. He just buries his head in my bed roll.”

“Who could ask for anything more?” Cullen said, finding himself grinning a little.

“See. We Fereldens know what’s up.”


	8. Friendly Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for DA2 - discussing Anders  
> \-----  
> A little Cass/Inquisitor  
> \-----
> 
>  
> 
> “You think it’s the Maker’s Will or something?” Alex asked, blowing a smoke ring.
> 
> Hawke snorted. “The Maker has never shown much will to do anything. If He ever feels up to it though, He’s welcome to come down and share with the class.”  
> \------

Revan peered around the corner. She twisted her fingers together. The mage was studying something, intent on his work. He did not appear to notice her. That was all right. She looked down at the book in her hands. It had gone to Dagna instead of its intended recipient. Revan had volunteered to take it to Solas. 

He seemed so calm and thoughtful but he was also strong and fierce. You never really knew someone until you fought him and her fight with him had her itching for more. She was intensely curious about him. He wasn’t what she’d normally consider traditionally handsome but he was…something just felt….

She frowned to herself, looking down at the book. Her fingers traced the leather binding of _Flame and Scale_ by Brother Florian. She looked back up and froze.

He was looking at her. He leaned up from his desk and pushed his chair back to stand. “Revan,” he greeted, inclining his head.

She took a step back and then forward, trying to remember to breath. “I—um—this book. It. It was supposed to go to you,” she said in a rush. “Um. But. It came to us—Dagna—instead. Um. I’m sorry to interrupt.”

“Come in, _lethallan_.”

She stepped into the rotunda. He had an extensive worktable set up here, as well as scaffolding. The murals caught her eyes immediately, her mouth falling open as she stared around at them and then suddenly remembered she was supposed to be walking. She hurried up to the other elf. 

“Have you read this book?” Solas asked her gently.

“Oh, I…no, Master Solas. I…haven’t.”

“Does magic interest you?”

She felt caught, her heart was hammering in her chest. “I—well….yes. Um. But—it—I never manifested any proper magic. I imagine it must feel wonderful to be able to touch the Fade.”

The elf’s eyebrows raised in interest at her answer. “It is,” he told her and accepted the book. “You have some natural arcane ability. I felt it when we fought. You have an uncanny sense for certain weapons?”

“Well, I—um—maybe,” Revan said. “I never told anyone…I…didn’t want to get sent to a Circle.”

“Well, you don’t appear to have manifested any ability—merely latent talent. They don’t take you to the Circle for that.”

“I know,” she said, shoulders curling inward a little. “I’m sorry. I just—just in case. It was safer when I left my alienage in Kirkwall.”

“Did Master Grant know?”

“He said I was good at it and taught me smithing, Master Solas.”

Solas set the book aside. He hesitated before he spoke. “I apologize for my distance. I was told that you wished to thank me and I did not make the time that I should have. When one spends much time alone, sometimes manners fall by the wayside. It was my intent to go before the explosion in the keep. I apologize that it took me so long.”

She shook her head quickly. “No, you—it’s—I wouldn’t expect—you’re very busy. You work directly with the Inquisitor. You have…more important things to do.”

“When making time for caterpillars, one can sometimes catch a butterfly.” 

She stiffened and for some reason felt her face burn red. _Is he real?_

Solas smiled a little. “Would you like to sit?” He asked her, stepping away from his table to get another chair and move it to her. 

“Oh. I. Uh. Thank you.” She collapsed into it and then sat up straight and still, watching him go back around his desk.

He sat down again. “Do you have an interest in learning about magic?”

“Yes!” she said eagerly and then pulled back. “I’m sorry. I mean—ahem—yes. I do. I never had the opportunity.”

Solas looked at his books and then at her, peering at her curiously. “If you wish, I could teach you.”

She sat up even straighter, mouth opening to say _yes!_ and then pulling back. “I…have no way to repay you for such a thing, Master Solas. Even the offer is…far too kind.”

“Well, you did offer to the Inquisitor that you might make me something. Perhaps, we can trade?” Solas studied her, watching her eyes brighten.

“I—yes—absolutely. What would you like me to make, Master Solas?”

“A well-crafted staff is always welcome, Revan. We can begin study as you plan it.”

She blinked. “Wouldn’t you…I mean…don’t you want the staff first?”

Solas smiled gently at her. “I have no fear that you won’t keep your word.” He gestured out to the sidebar. “There’s tea, if you would like. Can you tell me what topics interest you?”

She nervously twisted her fingers together. “I’ve….never had any formal learning, Master Solas.” Her eyes dropped to her knees.

“There is no need for shame, Revan. One must learn to walk before she can run. Can you read?”

If anything, she seemed to look deeper into her knees. “….no, Master Solas. A smith doesn’t….need to read.”

“Then we will start there. Do you speak elven?”

“…no,” she said, very softly. “My parents had all but lost it three generations back.”

“Then, if you’ve an interest, I might teach you that as well. But first, we build a solid foundation, _lethallan_. Every day, when your work with Dagna is done—come here. I will teach you to read the common Thedan.”

She looked a little overwhelmed. “Is there—something I can bring—something I can….ah, a blend of tea or something that—“

“Peace, _lethallan_. I actually do not care for tea myself. If it will put you at ease, simply bring some bread and cheese with you from the kitchens.”

“I—I will do that, _hahren_.”

 

 

She arrived late in the afternoon the next day, bearing a tray laden with bread, cheese, little cakes and a kettle. He was surprised by her formality—but then, it sounded like she’d been barely above a slave for a long time. Solas cleared his desk for her.

“I know you said you don’t like tea. Um. So I…I brought coffee, _hahren_.”

Solas looked at her in surprise. “Coffee—where did you get coffee?”

“Um. In Denerim, Master Solas. I ordered more from Redcliffe after Haven.”

“I appreciate you sharing it with me,” Solas told her, inclining his head a little. “I know coffee is much more difficult to come by. And it’s expensive.” He pulled the extra chair around to his side. “Sit, please. I will get a slate.” 

Solas was a natural teacher. He got her a slate and he pulled out a few books from the stacks that mined the rotunda. It was easy for him to put on this robe. She was an eager pupil, if extremely shy and seeming almost ashamed of her ignorance. That did not bother him. She would relax eventually. For now, it would be more productive to allow her to ‘repay’ him with bread and cheese and the promise of a new staff. She did not want something for nothing and she offered what she could freely to him. The coffee, in particular, stuck with him. It was a little thing but very thoughtful. The little things could often be the most thoughtful. And the most telling.

Perhaps he could do something in return.

 

 

 

Hawke was sitting in the rebuilt war room with her boot braced on the table. She lit her pipe and blew a thin cloud of blue smoke above her head. “All right, Trevelyan…I know I’m here for Corypheus and all—but I feel like it would do you a disservice if I didn’t attempt to give you some advice on how to deal with so many people looking to you for answers.”

Alexander sat back and nodded. “All right.” 

He watched her stand up, starting to pace. “First thing,” she said, “and maybe the most important one to remember: everyone is going to lie to you.”

Alex blinked, staring at her. “What?”

“It’s inevitable. A group this large, it’s going to happen. It’s easier in the end, to just assume it will.”

“Did one of them say something weird to you or—“

“No, kid. It’s not personal at all,” Hawke said, leaning against the table. “It’s just…this many people—there is always someone.”

Alexander cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, c’mon. Really? I mean—who here would—“

“I’m not _saying_ it’s someone in particular, kid. I’m not saying there’s a certain _type_ of person that will always turn on you. I’m just saying—be wary of it. The easiest way to tell, in my opinion is this: Ask them where they learned what they know. People don’t end up in the Inquisitor’s inner circle just because they want to be. There’s a reason they’re at your side. They’re skilled, they’re unique, strange circumstances—whatever. In my experience, there’s no such thing as coincidence. So when you ask them where they learned what they know—listen to their answer. If they can answer in three or four sentences or less—they’re probably telling the truth. If they can’t—they give you their entire life story instead, they are reluctant to share anything or they talk around the topic but never answer the question—they’re the ones you need to watch.”

“Some people are just like that though. Solas has a book on everything you ask him about.”

“I’m not saying this is full-proof. Just that it can be a good indicator. If there’s something that they need to hide from you at _this_ level, that means Sister Nightingale didn’t find it. That means it’s a really good secret.”

Alex looked at his hands and then up at Hawke. “….is this…I mean—because of Anders?”

“Yes,” she said. “I wasn’t stupid. I knew something was wrong. I knew about Justice. We all did. But Justice was quiet for a long time. It was easy to forget he was there. Anders was…” she glanced down at the war table. “….Anders was charming and funny, driven and passionate. He argued incessantly with Fenris. About everything. Those two couldn’t be in the same room without starting an argument about what color the walls were. It was easy to just sit back and think, _I don’t need to worry. He knows what he’s doing._ ”

“Did Justice ever try to…turn on you?”

Hawke crossed her arms. “Once, Justice took over Anders and came after me. He and Anders didn’t….agree. On. How Anders felt about me.”

“I read _A Tale of the Champion_ \--it seems like Anders had it pretty bad for you.”

Hawke looked disgruntled at that. “Well. I’m sure you know how it is—desperate times makes people reckless. Makes them look for something intense to balance out all the fear and pain.”

“What made you suspicious?” Alex asked.

Hawke started to pace in front of the table again. “I was young and stupid. My….relationship with Anders was very intense. And it was also extremely unhealthy, ha. But before he blew up the Chantry he asked me to go with him and distract the Revered Mother while he looked for something. He refused to tell me what he was looking for. He refused to tell me his plan. And then he tried to blackmail me into doing it—by saying I clearly didn’t love him if I didn’t agree.”

“What did you do?”

“I refused. He got it done himself somehow. I tried to warn the Mother—but I didn’t know what his plan was. But the second someone tries to make you go against your conscience…stop and really think about what they’re asking you to do. No one is worth compromising your morals for.”

“But you didn’t help him, right?”

“I didn’t. But you know…I’ll always wonder if I could have stopped him too. That’s something I still struggle with. Why didn’t I go to Knight-Captain Cullen? Would he have done something?”

“Why didn’t you?” Alex asked carefully.

Hawke sighed. “I didn’t want to think that Anders would do something terrible. He talked a lot about revolution and aiding mages to get them out of Kirkwall. I was fine with that. I helped with that, even. But…he started to delve more into the radical side of the debate. And I….didn’t. By then, my brother, sister, father and mother were all dead. I had my uncle Gamlen but honestly, Varric has always been more family to me than Gamlen ever was.” She smiled. “I should have listened to Varric. He warned me away from Anders. I didn’t listen. I wanted something that wasn’t pain or fear. When Anders offered it, I took it. And it was one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made.”

“Was it true that you had to execute him,” Alex asked quietly.

“Yes.” Her eyes became dark and far away.

“How…I mean—I can’t imagine if I had to…kill Cassandra,” Alex managed. “I…it makes my chest hurt when I think of that.”

“I wanted to believe that Vengeance had consumed him and there would be no saving him. I don’t know if that was true—but I tell myself that so I can sleep at night. If I had let him go—it would have incited a war with Starkhaven. And if I’d taken him with me…I would never be able to trust him again. It was better that way, at least I executed him myself.” She breathed in deeply, rubbing her head. “So, the moral of the story, Inquisitor? Be careful how deeply you get involved with people.”

Alex chuckled. “Never love anyone. Life is shit and then you die.”

Hawke laughed, sitting on the war table next to Denerim. “Pretty much.”

“You know, Hawke—if you wanted—we could try and find some of your friends.”

Hawke’s lips thinned. “….I…hmm. I don’t know. I’ll talk to Varric about it. Thank you for the offer, Inquisitor.”

“It’s kind of weird…knowing that Varric has you—I mean—a whole other group that none of us know.”

“Same on this side. I admit—when Varric started telling me about you—I got a little jealous, thinking he had a new best friend.” She grinned. 

“He just—he treats you really different from us.”

“I suppose because we’ve been through something like this before. On a smaller scale, yes. But we had our…inner circle, I guess, if you can call it that. We even had Cullen.”

The Inquisitor studied her. “He was different then—I’ve heard.”

“Yes. He seems…to be doing better now. He was so….tired, in Kirkwall. So tired.”

“Were you friends?”

“….well…..I was an apostate. He never arrested me. Even before I had enough influence in Kirkwall to make me exempt. He let me go. He shouldn’t have. Meredith was…totally bonkers. He was struggling to keep the city from falling apart and also trying to assuage Meredith at the same time. He was in a bad place, the poor bastard. It would have made his job easier if he’d locked me up in a Circle. But he never did. And when I lost Carver in the Deep Roads…he somehow found out about it. He offered his sympathies. Same when my mother died later.”

“He doesn’t talk a lot about what happened in Kirkwall,” Alex said. “Neither does Varric.”

“Most people don’t. It was…” Hawke shook her head. “It was….really terrible. After Anders and then we had to fight Meredith—she turned into red lyrium and…we had to make a run for it. Knight-Captain Cullen fought with us against Meredith but…he wasn’t sure what to do when she turned into lyrium. People were either going to blame me or something worse and it would have just added fuel to the whole thing. So we left.” She sighed. “And now we’re all back together. Cullen, you, your people, Leliana—“

“Leliana?” Alexander asked her, taking out the pouch for his pipe and packing it with tobacco (Antivan Seeker Gold). “Did you meet her?”

“Yes—briefly. She was how we heard about the possibility of an Exalted March—“

“Holy shit. What the fuck,” Alex said quietly. “So Cullen and Leliana both met the Hero of Ferelden, the Champion of Kirkwall and me.”

“Oh yeah—you know Harritt? Your smith. He’s from Lothering. That means he probably met Warden Bryndis and King Alistair, I knew his family and now he’s here, smithing for you.”

Alex blinked. “Holy shit. Does someone have it out for them or what?”

“I dunno but whatever it is—you need to keep them around. They’re good luck charms or something.”

“You think it’s the Maker’s Will or something?” Alex asked, blowing a smoke ring.

Hawke snorted. “The Maker has never shown much will to do anything. If He ever feels up to it though, He’s welcome to come down and share with the class.”

Alex laughed as he got up, cutting off a chunk of bread from the sidebar. “So—have you talked to Solas yet?”

“Solas—the elf, Chuckles, right?”

“Yeah—I only ask because…he’s kind of our resident spirit expert. Maybe he can tell you something about Justice.”

Hawke took a deep breath. “I dunno—is it gonna be anything like what that kid did at the tavern?”

“No—that’s unique to Cole. I’m sorry about that, by the way—even if Varric warned you—it’s really unnerving when Cole does his mind-reading trick for the first time. He does it to everyone though—which you’ll see when we go to Crestwood. Sometimes it’s really embarrassing. But we’ve all gotten to a point where we just…don’t judge. No matter what Cole says.”

“Wow. Spooky. Interesting though—I’ve never seen anything like it. He feels strange. Like Merrill’s eluvian did.”

“What’s an eluvian?”

“From what I understand, it was….some kind of device used to store knowledge? Or to travel maybe? Merrill—who came from the same clan as Bryndis, by the way—had found it. It looked like a tall mirror. But it didn’t reflect anything. Merrill was trying to restore it—but I’m not sure that even _she_ knew exactly what it did. She just felt that it was really important to fix it. She worked on it the whole time we were in Kirkwall together—but it never worked. I always wondered what it…did, exactly.”

“Well, hey—Solas is also our resident expert on old elven shit. He might be able to help with that too.”

Hawke tapped her chin. “Hmm, maybe I will ask him then.”

“He’s not so bad—you just have to let him warm up to you. He’ll respect you being an apostate, at least.”

Hawke chuckled. “So long as he’s not peddling radical revolution, I’m all right. You can’t reason with those people.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Alex smiled. He leaned against the table. “By the way—can I ask you a question? It’s been bugging me for ages.”

“What?” Hawke said.

“Bianca?”

Hawke burst out laughing.

“C’mon, if anyone knows the story behind Bianca, it’s you, right?”

“Prepare to be disappointed.”

“No friggin way,” Alex accused. “You don’t know?”

Hawke threw her hands up. “It’s the one story he never tells.”

“But even _you_!”

“I don’t know. He never told me. I only ever asked him twice. After we met and when he tried to warn me away from Anders. Well, I guess I didn’t really ask about her—I just alluded to it. But he never told me. I kind of wonder if there just _is_ no story. And he runs with it because the idea of the One Story the Storyteller Doesn’t Tell is really dramatic and compelling.”

“That _would_ be like him, wouldn’t it…” Alex narrowed his eyes. “That little bastard. That better not be the case.”

Hawke grinned. “I’m glad Varric has all of you—just, by the way. He’s…he’s a good person and he has no family left. He’s a true friend. Sometimes it got me into trouble—but usually it was worth it. I think even now, I could probably get through Darktown blindfolded. We knew every inch of Kirkwall.”

“He seems to really miss it.” Alex said, sliding a pitcher of hot spiced wine across the table.

Hawke poured a large mug of it, looking at the map to where Kirkwall was outlined. “It’s strange. I didn’t grow up in Kirkwall. But being there….it’s…a terrible city. But it was also beautiful and tragic. You fall in love with it or it grows on you. And only Kirkwallers can insult Kirkwall. Anyone else is gonna get a boot upside the head.”

The door opened and Cassandra walked in. “Champion,” she greeted. 

“Ah, it’s Boss-Ma’am,” Hawke said and swiftly downed her wine. “I’ll leave her to you.” She winked at Alex and turned to go.

The Inquisitor poured another mug of wine for Cassandra. 

“Was she giving you good advice?” Cassandra asked.

Alex chuckled. “That and a few stories. Sounds like she and Varric were hellions in Kirkwall.”

Cassandra laughed. “Why am I not surprised?” She gently touched Alex’s shoulder to urge him to turn and face her. “Bend down,” she huffed and waited for him to lean over so she could examine his scalp.

“Is it still there?” Alex asked.

“Your skull yes, anything that might fill it—no.”

Alex laughed and reached out to grab her hips. He straightened up, pulling her tight against him. He felt her hand touch the left side of his face, warm and gentle. “Cole came to me earlier and said he wanted to give you something.”

Alex blinked. “Wh-huh? Cole does?”

“Yes. He asked me to bring you to him when you were not busy.”

“What counts as busy?” Alex asked, leaning in to trace her throat with his mouth.

“He did not say,” Cassandra returned, tilting her neck to allow him access.

Alex’s hands tightened into her hips and his mouth wandered up to capture hers. 

“I’m also supposed to tell you about the Winter Palace,” she breathed against lips.

“Oh, mood-killer,” Alex murmured, kissing her again.

“Josephine wishes to know if you know how to dance…”

“Did you tell that hussy I’m taken?”

Cassandra sputtered on a laugh. “Alex, she does not—“

He pulled her in tighter, a hand sliding under her linen shirt. He pushed up so he could cup her breast, massaging at her nipple. “You are the most amazingly awesome woman on the planet,” he said, grinning at her. And then he looked down. “….I love you, I think. A lot.”

Cassandra kissed him, slow and languid and then wrapped her arms around his neck. “Unfortunately, that love will not keep you from the Winter Palace.”

Alex burst out laughing and kissed her, breathing her in. “All right, then I’ll distract you until we have to go talk to the Ambassador.”

“And apologize for saying she was a hussy.”

“That was just a joke!” He insisted. He grabbed her thigh and pushed her to sit on top of the war table. 

“Alex—“

He urged her back, shoving little figures away and kneeling over her. “Do you know how much I’ve wanted to strike this off my list?”

“On the war room table!” Cassandra slapped his right shoulder lightly. “Wait—you have a _list_?”

“Well. Yeah. I mean—why not. I have a castle. Might as well do…sex bingo, I guess.”

“Maker have mercy, Alexander—”

He kissed her, hands pulling her shirt free and starting on her belt. He laughed against her mouth, sliding a hand into her trousers to touch her directly. She was already wet, the scent of her need was overwhelming. 

Afterwards, when they had fixed the table and pulled clothes back into place and checked each other’s hair, Alex put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple as they walked towards the door. “Cassandra….how did you learn what you know?”

Cassandra looked up at him curiously. “As a Seeker? We discussed this in Haven, Alex.”

“I know but…tell me again?”

“After my older brother, Anthony, died—I joined the chantry. I begged to be a Templar but I was sent to the Seekers.” 

Alexander nodded silently.

“….is everything all right?”

“Yeah, Cass. Thank you.” 

 

 

Hawke sat outside on the bridge leading out of Skyhold. She kicked her feet, looking at the ice and the refugee camps far below. Sergeant was lying down next to her. He absently licked her knee. 

“Thank you,” she told the dog. 

The sun cast brilliant gold and purple beams of light as it set over the mountains. The stars twinkled out by the thousands. A few torches came out on the guard walls as the shift changed. The tavern was already loud and full of singing and the smell of pipe smoke. Varric would probably be there by now. She could hardly wait to tell him about the Inquisitor’s funny questions. 

She heard a soft sound to her right and leaned back on the footbridge. Sergeant got up and then suddenly went still. He didn’t growl but he made a soft woof deep in his chest. 

Hawke scrambled up, taking the cue from Sergeant. She crept forward in front of him. Under the gates, someone was standing in the dark, teetering. 

“Is he drunk?” she murmured to Sergeant. 

The person staggered, touching his head and then the wall. And then he seemed to realize he wasn’t alone. “Identify yourself,” he said, voice wavering a little.

“Cullen?” Hawke said and hurried over to him. She snapped her fingers to create a little globe of light. It _was_ Cullen. “Are you all right?”

Cullen’s eyes met hers and for one terrible moment, she was sure he was possessed. But it was the reflection from her light. Nothing more. “You shouldn’t be out here,” he told her.

“Cullen—is it the lyrium?”

“Yes,” he murmured. “I’ll be fine. I only—“

“Sit down—shit, you’re gonna hurt yourself. What are you doing down here? You _have_ an office.”

“It was too…I needed some air.”

“All right, well…I’ll just stay with you so you don’t fall off the bridge, okay?”

Cullen tried to laugh and shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I apologize—I didn’t know you were out here.”

“Well, I’m not gonna make you pay a toll or anything. Not today. I mean.” She touched his arm when he listed a little. Sergeant went to Cullen’s left side, walking beside him. “Is it too—like—hot? We can walk out to the second gate and I’ll dump some snow on you.”

“That shouldn’t be…necessary.” He was shaking.

“Is it the pain?” She asked, more gently, keeping a hand out in case he fell. 

“I can’t stand all the—the noise and sound and the candles feel too hot. I had to get away from it…”

“All right,” she said and went quiet. She walked with him to the far gate and he leaned against the stone in the shadows.

Hawke watched Cullen quietly, letting the man get his bearings. The night was full upon them when he finally looked up again. He drug a hand down his face. “I’m sorry…”

“For what?”

“I….didn’t mean for anyone to see me like this.”

Hawke smiled. “To be honest, I’ve seen you worse. I kind of prefer this.” 

Cullen managed a smile. “I suppose you have.”

“I only meant—I mean—that you’re taking control of your life. It’s good. Even if it hurts.”

Cullen braced a hand on the stone and shifted to get a foot under himself so he could stand. He was still shaking. Hawke stepped into him to help him steady. “You don’t have to—“

“Oh, shut up. Quit being so stubborn,” Hawke drawled at him. 

He tried not to lean on her as she helped him walk back down the bridge. The closer they got to the gates, she created some purposeful distance between them and walked beside him—just in case people were watching. She walked up to his office with him but grabbed his cloak when he headed for his desk. 

“Nope.”

“What?” Cullen said, doing a double-take at her tugging on his cloak.

“No. You’re done with working for the night. Go upstairs. Go to bed.”

“I still have work to do—“

“That will be there tomorrow and the day after. If you push yourself like this, Cullen—you’re gonna crash really hard. Don’t push yourself so much. You need to rest.”

Cullen sighed softly and looked like he wanted nothing more. “….I should still—“

“You have ten seconds to get to your loft before I slap you around the face and neck. I’ll come up with some water and read you story, okay?”

One of the sergeants choked, smothering it into a cough. 

“Besides, I know they’ve been trained well. You can delegate a little. Go on. Upstairs. Shoo.”

“Do you have to do this in front of the sergeants?”

“I bet they already know who I am. So if they feel like I’m undermining you, I’ll slap them around too.”

“Hawke—“

“Cullen. Seriously. Go upstairs. You need to rest. Or I’m telling Cassandra on you.”

Cullen made a face at her but went to his ladder. She watched him until he disappeared and then turned to the sergeant. “Y’all need to scoot to the lower guardhouse. And look out for your commander, by the way. He might seem like a machine—but he’s pushing himself harder than anyone I know.”

“Our apologies, Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll talk to your captains and Seeker Pentaghast tomorrow. Now, shoo. Scoot.” 

When the sergeants were gone, she selected a book from his shelf. One of Varric’s, it pleased her to see. She climbed up the ladder and knocked on the hatch cover.

He stared at her curiously when she poked her head in. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“I brought you a book, nugbrain.” She climbed up.

“Are you serious?” Cullen asked.

“Yeah, dummy. And I had to make sure you weren’t gonna jump out the window or anything.”

He’d lit a single candle on his desk. His armor was off but he was still wearing his regular linen shirt and leather trousers. “It’s not really bright enough to read anymore.”

She placed the book on the foot of his bed. “Maybe try and read tomorrow then.”

He peered at her. “I…why do you—“

“Look, Cullen—I watched you run yourself into the ground in Kirkwall and I didn’t do anything to help you. So I’d feel bad if I didn’t at least make the effort here.” She gestured to him. “Get some rest. You need it. You have to take care of yourself, Cullen. Lyrium withdraw is…” She shook her head. “Just get some rest.”

She went back to the hatch cover and slid down the ladder.

Cullen peered after her curiously, picking up the book she’d left. He set it aside on his nightable before he blew out the candle.


End file.
